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KATHERINE BARRY, 


A NOVEL. 


BY 

Harry Hughes. 




NEW YORK: 

G* TV, Dillingham Co.y Publishers ^ 


MDCCCC. 


TWO Copies received 

1 1 1900 

Of C.pyrtgfcj^ 


T'- 




5G728 

Copyright, 1900, by 
G. W. DILLINGHAM COMPANY. 
[A// rights riserved.'\ 


Katherine Barry, 



SECOND COPY, 


\ c> O . 


KATHERINE BARRY, 


CHAPTER I. 

It was commencement day at Plainfield Seminary. 
A bright June morning, with not a cloud to fleck its per- 
fect sky, had ushered in the long-looked-for day. A lazy 
northwest breeze, loaded with fragrance of near-by gar- 
den flowers and a suggestion of distant daisies and but- 
tercups, stirred the leaves of the great elms and maples 
shading the seminary grounds and rippled the ivy, almost 
covering with leafy panoply, the old gray walls of the 
seminary building. From a flagstaff above the bellfry, 
the blue and red of “old glory” gleamed in the clear 
sunlight and, above it, a long streamer in light blue and 
yellow, the seminary colors, gave a festive air to the 
staid ensemble. Along the wide porch and out upon the 
lawn, groups of schoolgirls in holiday apparel were dis- 
cussing the coming events of the occasion, while others 
ran in and out completing their preparations for the 
part each was to take in the exercises of the day. At 
one end of the long porch, two girls were leaning upon 
their arms over the railing, talking to a third who stood 
upon the ground outside. They wore the badge of the 

[ 7 ] 


8 


KATHERINE BARRT* 


graduating class and were evidently in that state of mind 
peculiar to young candidates for commencement honors, 
wherein gladness and suppressed excitement control 
alternately, according as one condition or the other is 
favored by the moment’s situation. 

“ Well, Kate,” said one of those upon the porch, “ do 
tell us where you got those lovely locust blossoms ! Isn’t 
it rather early in the season for them ? I did not sup- 
pose they blossomed before the first of July.” 

“ Nor did I,” spoke her companion, “indeed I suspect 
these never grew hereabouts — there is something foreign 
in their appearance, although,” as Kate held up a spray 
under their faces, “ I must confess their fragrance is a 
dear, familiar — my! they are just too sweet for any- 
thing!” 

Whereupon Kate broke two sprays from the branch 
in her hand and gave one to each of the girls as if to 
divert their inquisitiveness, but that only stimulated their 
curiosity, for, fastening the blossoms at their bosoms, 
they again besought her to tell whence came the flowers 
and who sent them. 

“Well, girls,” said Kate, “there is nothing foreign 
about these flowers, I assure you. Mr. Harmon got 
them for me from a young locust tree out there upon our 
own seminary grounds. It stands in a sheltered corner 
at the south side of the stable, and for that reason, I sup- 
pose, it blossoms so early.” 

“ Oh, yes,” chimed the girls together, “ we should 
have guessed as much. Really, Kate, your candor, though, 
is charming.” 

“ Thank you,” replied Kate, bowing low in mock 
deference and making a sort of military salute with her 
branch of locust flowers. “Your compliment is most 
gracious.” 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


9 


“ There is Mr. Hannon now!” said one of the girls in 
tones somewhat subdued, as she glanced toward the street. 

“ Where ?” inquired her companion, looking about 
and turning to observe the direction of vision taken by 
the other in making the discovery. 

“ Don’t you see him ?” she replied, in a tone of pseudo- 
impatience and with a playful push upon the shoulder 
in the direction she would have her look. “ He has just 
come through the gate with the tall gentleman in a gray 
suit.” 

Kate had turned to look in the direction given, but the 
lawn in front was, by this time, so thronged that, from 
her lower position, she did not at once see either gentle- 
man. Raising herself on tiptoe by pulling with one 
hand on the railing, she looked, for a moment, over the 
heads of the people and, as she dropped back to her place, 
said: “Why, that is Judge Sheldon, who is to hand us 
our diplomas to-day.” 

At this announcement the girls both turned at once 
with interested gaze, and for a minute, looked toward 
the gentlemen in silence. Then one of them, turning 
again to Kate, drew a long and not altogether artificial 
sigh as she said: “ Dear me ! how I wish it was all over- 
My composition has become so commonplace to me that 
I am quite ashamed of it, and last evening I made some 
changes in it that seem to improve it — but, I don’t know; 
and just as likely as not. I’ll stumble when I come to 
the altered places. If it had only been ” 

Whatever she was about to say was interrupted by her 
companion turning excitedly toward her and Kate say- 
ing in a loud whisper: “ They are actually coming this 
way !” 

Kate stepped around the porch corner and saw the 
gentlemen approaching. Mr. Jlarmon perceiving her. 


10 


KATHERINE BARKY. 


lifted his hat and, upon drawing near introduced the 
judge. Kate bowed, introduced her classmates, and 
then turning to Mr. Harmon reminded him that she 
was under obligations for the judge’s acquaintance al- 
ready — since the evening before. 

At this moment Mr. Dabney, the principal, having 
perceived the judge, came over quickly from a group 
near the main entrance, greeted him cordially and led 
him upon the porch, whence, after a few moments’ delay 
in conversation, both disappeared within the seminary. 
The girls, as if suddenly conscious of impending obliga- 
tions, excused themselves and hurried up to their desks. 
Kate and Mr. Harmon walked over to a rustic seat built 
around the base of a great maple, a little apart from the 
throng, where they seated themselves as Mr. Harmon, 
fanning himself with his straw hat, said: “ Miss Barry, 
I am glad of an opportunity this morning to apologize 
for the freedom with which I criticized Dr. Belden’s 
sermon last evening. You know that I take radical views 
of religious questions generally, but perhaps you were 
not prepared to hear the immortality of the soul discussed 
quite so freely. The doctor, in his sermon on the great 
question in his text: ‘ If a man die, shall he live again,’ 
gave us so little that is new and assumed so much as 
beyond question, that, whether in disappointment or 
resentment, I went further than I would in stating my 
belief, or perhaps my disbelief.” 

“ Indeed Mr. Harmon,” replied Kate, “ I have thought 
a great deal of what you said last evening, and I must 
confess the more I think of it, the more shocked I am. 
I can not understand how any one can permit himself to 
doubt, in these days, what all ages and all people have 
held in some form. It seems to me that you can hardly 
be serions in making such assertions, Mr, Harmon, 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


ir 


Really, it does not, for while I know what yonr view of 
religious belief, in general, is, because you have so often 
talked to me about it, I never before heard you say any- 
thing that led me to believe that you really doubted im- ■ 
mortality.” As she uttered these last words, Kate’s 
voice and manner gave intimation of emotional disturb- 
ance, and Mr. Harmon, noticing it, placed his hat upon 
the seat beside him and turning toward Kate said in 
tones of penitence and conciliation : 

“ I regret very much that I said anything to disturb 
your notion of right. Miss Barry, and I beg that you will 
think of it no longer. When I came over early this morn- 
ing expressly to see you and to learn whether I had unin- 
tentionally left a hurtful impression by my talk last even- 
ing, as you know. Miss Benton was with you, and when 
I suggested the search for locust blossoms, my purpose 
was wholly to disengage you from her so that we might 
talk more freely, but you know how entirely I failed.’’ 
Then, as for a bit of diverting pleasantry, he added: 
“What a simple old soul she is! When I said that I 
feared the dew would wet through her slippers if she 
accompanied us over the lawn, you know how confidently 
she asked us to wait while she ran up to her room for 
a pair of shoes !” 

Kate smiled as he said this, but before she made 
reply the chapel bell began to ring and she arose from 
her' seat with a little start. , Mr. Harmon arose also in 
a half- reluctant way, and, hat in hand, accompanied Kate 
as she hurried to the library door, at the north side, 
where he bade her good-morning, and, going around to 
the front, he soon became one of the throng moving up 
the steps and into the seminary chapel where the exer- 
cises of the day were to be held. 


CHAPTER II. 


Mr. Harmon was of ordinary stature and about twenty- 
five years of age. His hair was black, his eyes dark- 
brown and his complexion pale. His head was large 
and well-proportioned, and his face, wide at the top, 
seemed narrow below because of a disproportionately 
narrow and prominent chin. His mouth was rather 
wide and his lips thin. He wore no beard, but his hair 
was allowed to grow long and was brushed back over 
his ears. He was a student-at-law in a Plainfield office, 
and expected to be admitted to practice in the ensuing 
autumn. He was the only son of his parents, who were 
old residents of Plainfield and well to do. They had 
one daughter, six years his junior, who was a member 
of the graduating class at the seminary of the year pre- 
vious. He took an active interest in politics, and had 
won a local reputation for eloquence throughout his 
native county. He was popular and esteemed for his 
talents and for his excellent character. He was generally 
known as fond of argument, a ready, ardent advocate of 
any cause for principle, and as one of the “best read ” 
men in the country. In religious matters he was regret- 
fully looked upon as rather inclined to freethinking by 
the more pious people of Plainfield, but such view of 
him worked little injury to the high regard and almost 
paternal pride they took in him. He had been elected 
president of the village for two succeeding terms, had 
been a county supervisor, and was one of the trustees of 
the seminary, and influential in introducing some modern 
element into its old, conservative management, 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


13 


Plainfield Seminary, although one of the oldest edu- 
cational institutions in the country, had never developed 
beyond the “ home boarding school for a limited number 
of girls.” It was founded many years before, when the 
country was yet new, by two elderly maiden sisters who 
had come, no one ever knew why, into the wild country 
of this region from the vicinity of Boston. In the first 
year of their arrival, these ladies impressed the rude 
settlers of the hamlet with a most deferential regard for 
their genteel manners and superior qualifications. They 
were very dignified and reserved, and dressed somewhat 
after the manner of Quakers. The elder was a little 
“peculiar,” and many tales are yet told by the older 
dames of the village of the queer doings of stately old 
Miss Batty. That she was something of an artist is evi- 
denced by a dingy oil painting in an ancient gilt frame, 
bearing in a corner her initials and the date 1821, which 
hangs to this day at the top of the second stairs in the 
rear hall of the seminary. The younger sister was organ- 
ist at the Presbyterian church during the thirty-eight 
years of her residence in Plainfield, and it is said of her 
that she was never absent from her place in the organ 
loft in all that time but on one occasion. On that Sun- 
day morning her favorite tabby, to escape a pursuing 
dog, had ran up a tree, and Miss Helen had become so 
exercised over the slow and difficult matter of getting 
the cat down again that she ignored all lesser considera- 
tions, and devoted the half of God’s day to undoing the 
dog’s work. 

The seminary had its beginning in a “ select school ” 
which the Batty sisters had opened in the second year 
of their residence in Plainfield at the solicitation of a 
few families, and, as time went by, owing either to the 
management and skill of the sisters or to the local demand 


14 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


for such educational facilities, the school grew in useful- 
ness and importance to the full stature of its present local 
eminence. In the estimation of the good people of Plain, 
field it had always stood in an atmosphere of moral re- 
spectability, and, although never identified with any reli- 
gious denomination, the townspeople had early learned 
to confidently intrust to the pious personality of the 
Batty sisters the care and general religious guidance of 
their daughters. The character thus woven into its early 
growth, persisted through the changes of many years to 
the present time, and imparted to succeeding principals 
and teachers quite as much of moral and religious char- 
acter as they brought to it. The Batty sisters lived to 
see the seminary an established and successful institu- 
tion. Within a walled inclosure beyond the garden, at 
the south side of the orchard, two grass-grown graves 
mark the place where their bodies were laid years ago. 
Each year, on the twenty-fourth day of May, founder’s 
day, the graves are formally visited by teachers and 
pupils, and decorated with flowers. 

The class of this year contained eight members, and 
was larger by one or two than any graduated in several 
years. It was also remarkable for the wide range it rep- 
resented in the following features : first, in avoirdupois : 
Marcia Perkins weighed a trifle over two hundred pounds, 
while Nellie Jenks balanced the beam at seventy-one; 
second, in stature : Ada Bennett was five feet ten inches 
in height, while Julia Dow reached only four feet two 
inches; third, in complexion: Sarah Collins was a pro- 
nounced blonde, while Jennie Fergusson was as dark as 
a senorita ; and fourth, in religion : Katherine Barry was 
a Catholic, while the others were all members of some 
Protestant denomination. For the first time in its his- 
tory, Plainfield Seminary included in its graduating 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


15 


class a Roman Catholic. This, in itself was not, per- 
haps, noteworthy because the seminary was neither 
founded nor conducted under the auspices of any denom- 
ination, but taken in connection with the fact that here- 
tofore the pupils had been uniformly protestant and that 
whatever of religious atmosphere pervaded its halls had 
always been distinctly of that faith, the presence of a 
Catholic now was suggestive of radical innovation. Fur- 
thermore, the seminary was about to confer its highest 
honors upon this solitary representative of that churchy 
Throughout the course Kate had stood at the head of 
her class, had won the medal established in the will of 
old deacon Seeley, years ago, for “ greatest proficiency in 
mathematics,” had secured the free scholarship offered 
by the Musical Conservatory at Springfield, and had 
been elected by her classmates to deliver the valedictory 
on graduation day. The honor thus conferred by her 
classmates gave evidence of her popularity, notwithstand- 
ing her religion. During her two years course at the 
seminary, whatever of antipathy was felt when she first 
came among them, had rapidly yielded to the subtle in- 
fluence of her personality, so unobstrusive and yet so 
all-pervading. Her natural gifts, her proficiency and 
exemplary deportment had made her a favorite with her 
teachers and given her superior influence among the 
pupils. She was the daughter of a well-to-do farmer 
who was well known throughout the county. He had 
emigrated to this country from Ireland with his young 
wife upwards of fifty years before, cleared the land 
which he then purchased, and built thereon the first 
“ hewed log house ” in that section. On this same farm, 
two miles west from Plainfield, he had lived all those 
years, acquired a competence and reared his children, 
two sons and a daughter. At the time of which I write. 


i6 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


his sons were married and settled in the West, a third 
having died in infancy. Kate, the only daughter and 
the youngest, was nineteen years of age. She was slightly 
above medium stature, slender and well proportioned. 
Her eyes were typically “ Irish blue,” her hair auburn 
and her skin of a milk-like whiteness that accentuated 
the damask of her cheeks. Her face was oval, her fore- 
head high and her chin, though somewhat full, was well, 
formed. Her voice, clear and musical, was free of nasal 
tones; her movements and attitudes naturally graceful. 
She had grown up on her father’s farm favored by all 
the conditions so conducive to health of body and mind. 
The pure air, simple diet, regular hours and freedom 
from physical confinement had given her an admirable 
physique. The industry, sturdy honesty and simple as- 
pirations of her father,*. the diligence, self-denial and piety 
of her mother had, by example and precept, united in 
endowing her with good sense, a kind heart and a large 
share of domestic virtue. In early girlhood, she had 
learned with her brothers upon the farm the methods 
of handling horses and the management of cattle. She 
was a fearless rider, and at sixteen years of age, had won 
the prize at the county fair for excellence in horseman- 
ship. She knew, like an expert, the points in cattle, and 
could tell at a glance whether an animal was better 
adapted for beef or for butter. She was familiar with 
the different varieties of sheep and swine and poultry, 
and kiiev/ all the details of butter and cheese making, of 
canning berries and making pickles. She knew every 
wild flower of the country-side, at least by its common 
name, at what time it blossomed and where to look for 
it. She could tell the name, as she knew it, of any bird 
of that region at a momentary sight of its flight, or upon 
hearing a single note or the sound of its voice. All this 


Katherine! barrv. 


17 


had come to her without purpose or special study — it 
was part of her growth, of her life. Her course at the 
seminary had now added the learning contained in books, 
had formulated and systematized her information and 
developed in her the confidence that comes with the ac- 
quisition of scientific knowledge. 

During her stay at the seminary, she had become bet- 
ter acquainted with the townspeople through the social 
opportunities afforded by the school. She made many 
friends, and had not a few admirers among the young 
men of the village. Of these, John Harmon was most 
favored and the most constant in attendance. His suc- 
cess had become so marked before the end of the first 
year that his rivals had practically admitted his victory 
by leaving the field open to him almost exclusively. 
Reception days at the seminary always found him there 
with eyes and thoughts and words for no one but Kate, 
and on every other occasion when opportunity offered 
he was with her. His love making was so singular, 
though, that not even Kate knew, for a long time, whether 
he sought her because she was always an interested lis- 
tener, or because he felt for her what no word of his 
had told and no overt act had manifested. It was plain 
that he liked to be in her company, and when there, to 
talk of matters philosophic, scientific or historic, and to 
engage her interest in such subjects. He was an omniv- 
orous reader with a particular liking for metaphysical 
studies. When he discovered a book of any special merit, 
he hastened with it to Kate and without comment, re- 
quested her to read it. Such reading was often so heavy 
and obstruse that her interest awakened only when he 
discussed the matter with her afterwards. In those dis- 
cussions he had unconsciously revealed little by little 
the condition of his mind with regard to faith, original 


i8 


KATHERINE BARRV. 


sin, vicarious atonement and various other of the funda- 
mental tenets of the Christian church. His apparent 
purpose to make no disclosures of his own conclusions 
with reference to such questions was not owing to any lack 
of moral courage, but was due, rather, to his considera- 
tion for the convictions of others. He had been care- 
fully reared in the Protestant faith, and it was the hope 
of his mother and of a maternal aunt that he would grow 
up to be a minister of the gospel, so early did he mani- 
fest interest in religion, and seek information with regard 
to questions of religious belief. But later, while even 
yet in his ’teens, the boldness of his discussions and the 
freedom of his criticisms brought such pain and disap- 
pointment to those he loved, and caused such estrange- 
ment among some of his friends, that he learned a les- 
son in discretion and resolved, thereafter, to regard with 
more careful consideration the religious opinions of 
others. So well had he borne this in mind that, as stated 
heretofore, in popular opinion, he was regarded, in a 
general way only, as inclined to freethinking. To Kate, 
however, he had, without intending it, given a pretty 
accurate view of his mind, not only because they had 
read and discussed together books such as, in the nature 
of things, would bring this about, but also because, with- 
out admitting it to himself, his regard for Kate had de- 
veloped such a degree of confidence that his reserve had 
become, consequently, relaxed. When the discussion 
touched upon dogma, as it sometimes did, the strength 
of Kate’s religious belief immediately asserted itself. 
She was a willing partner so long as the question was a 
scientific one or even religious in character, if it did not 
involve any element of faith or dogma. John Harmon 
early learned this, and consequently purposed to observe 
proper regard for her conscience. If, in the fervor of 


KATHERINE BARRY, 


19 


his argument he at times went too far, a gentle protest 
from Kate turned him quickly toward safer ground. 
She loved to listen to him, he was so earnest, so honest, 
so eloquent, his mind so stored with information, his 
heart so full of altruism. Had he been a conceited man, 
the homage of Kate’s eyes when at times she sat enwrapt, 
would have distracted his line of thought and turned him 
from his subject to the candid worship manifest in her 
beautiful eyes. But when he paused, it was only to ob- 
tain some expression of assent, some recognition of his 
conclusion. Her charms, however, were not lost to him 
— they were the beautiful setting for her more beautiful 
mind. 


CHAPTER III. 


When John Harmon left Kate at the library door, she 
hurried upstairs to her room. As she reached the cor- 
ridor at the top of the stairway, she saw her father and 
mother, who had just arrived, going in advance of her 
toward her room and, running after them on tiptoe till 
she overtook them, she threw her arms about their necks 
from behind and kissed them right and left. 

“Oh! Katherine dear,” said her mother — she was 
always called Katherine at home — “ ye nearly frightened 
th’ life out o’ me. But I’m glad we found ye, fer I was 
af eared we were late an’ ye would be with the rest o’ thim 
goin’ up in th’ hall.” 

“ In another half-minute,” replied Kate, “you would 
have to seek me there. Come,” she added, taking her 
mother’s wrap upon her arm, and leading her by the 
hand, “come, we must hurry, or we shall be late now, 
sure enough.” Thereupon she threw the door to her 
room open, and turning to her father who was following 
a little behind, said: “Come father,” and reaching him 
a hand, led him, following her mother 'into the room 
Taking her father’s hat, she placed it upon a table, and 
catching up a brush, with a few deft strokes brought his 
scant locks into presentable order. Meanwhile her 
mother, standing in front of a mirror, had taken off her 
gloves and was adjusting her hair and her hat to her 
apparent satisfaction. Kate took some manuscript from a 
drawer and some flowers from a vase and, as her mother 
turned from the glass, she fastened a rose upon the old 
[ 20 ] 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


21 


lady’s bosom and said: “ Now, let us go,” and with her 
father on one arm and her mother on the other, they hur- 
ried along the corridor and upstairs to the chapel. 

As they entered, Kate resigned the direction of her 
parents to an usher, and hastened over to the seats as- 
signed to the graduating class at the right side of the 
platform. Her classmates were already in their places, 
and the audience, which filled the room to the walls, was 
just becoming settled. Upon the platform stood the prin- 
cipal with one hand upon the desk and the other nerv- 
ously twisting and intertwisting his watch-guard as he 
glanced with anxious face here and there over the audi- 
ence. In a semicircle behind him were seated the Rev. 
Mr. Cannon, pastor of the Presbyterian church. Judge 
Sheldon, county judge of an adjoining county, who was 
to deliver the diplomas and address the graduates. Dr. 
Crabtree, the leading physician and a man of local repu- 
tation as an ornothologist, and the members of the ^ac- 
ulty : Miss Benton, Miss Hollis and Mrs. Dabney, (the prin- 
cipal’s wife. The exercises were opened with prayer by 
the Rev. Mr. Cannon, who made a long and verbose ap- 
peal for all and everything that could reasonably be 
included in a supplication on such an occasion. He was 
a little man with a disproportionately large head, which 
disproportion was increased by a very full beard. He 
spoke slowly, and with great deliberation and profundity 
of manner. He accompanied his utterances with great 
upturning of his face and upstretching of his neck, and 
had a way of side- shaking his head at important words 
and at the close of sentences. 

After the prayer, there was a flutter of reanimated fans 
throughout the audience, and some shuffling and adjust- 
ing of chairs and the hurried entrance of a few who had 
lingered at the entrance, or arrived late. Music by the 


21 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


seminary quartette with Kate at the piano, soon harmo- 
nized all into good order and good feeling. Then, follow- 
ing in orderly succession, came the essays and declama- 
tions. When these had proceeded to about the middle 
of the programme, a most unlooked for thing happened. 
A dove, pursued by a hawk, as explained later by some 
boys outside, darted in at an open window, and after 
flying about the room, alighted upon the cornice over a 
door. The audience was suddenly thrown into some 
excitement, and there was, for a few moments, a good 
deal of confusion and some noise. Marcia Perkins, who 
was at the moment reading her essay, became very nerv- 
ous, not having perceived the cause of the disturbance, 
and in her embarassment turned the leaves of her manu- 
script so fumblingly that some sheets of it slipped from 
her Angers and went fluttering across the platform, a 
few of them even out through the window. This brought 
her reading to an abrupt stop, and with her face like a 
peony, she turned first to one side and then to the other, 
and finally faced about toward the principal who arose, 
and taking her by the hand, led her toward her seat. 
After this interruption, the proceedings went on in regu- 
lar order again to the end of the programme, when 
Kate delivered her valedictory with great credit to her- 
self and no little pride to her parents, closing with these 
beautiful lines from Longfellow : 

Faith overleaps the confines of our reason, 

And if by faith, as in old times was said 
Women received their dead 
Raised up to life, then only for a season 
Our partings are, nor shall we wait in vain 
Until we meet again.” 


Then Judge Sheldon arose and took his stand beside 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


23 


a table, upon which could be seen the little bundle of 
parchments tied with blue and yellow ribbon, while the 
members of the graduating class, at a signal from the 
principal, ranged up with cheerful promptitude, in a line 
at one side of the platform fronting him. As the prin- 
cipal called out the names, each candidate stepped for- 
ward and received her diploma from the judge’s hand, 
and backed into her place again with a countenance beam- 
ing with happiness and proud satisfaction. 

This little ceremony finished, the graduates returned 
to their seats, and the judge, turning more and more 
toward the audience as he proceeded, delivered an address 
upon the influence of woman in the home, in politics and 
in the world’s history that would have adorned a much 
greater occasion. 

At the close of the exercises, the audience crowded 
with great eagerness about the graduates to bestow con- 
gratulations, and about the judge to shake his hand and 
to tell him that his “ speech was as good as gospel.” 


CHAPTER IV. 


One hot afternoon about a week after commence- 
ment, John Harmon was sitting at his desk in the law 
office of Smith and Ramsdale when a farmer wearing a 
drooping, broad-brimmed straw hat, walked in through 
the open doorway and said: “You’re Mr. Harmon, 
aint ye ?” 

“ That’s my name,” answered Mr. Harmon. 

“Waal,” said the farmer, “ as I wuz cornin’ past Doc 
Agenses’, his boy run aout an’ ast me to take this letter 
daown tew ye,” at the same time removing his hat and 
taking from it a red cotton handkerchief which he care- 
fully unfolded till he extricated an envelope, and step- 
ping nearer, handed it to Mr. Harmon. 

“ Thank you — won’t you take a seat ?” said Mr. Har- 
mon, motioning toward a chair as he proceeded to open 
the envelope. 

“ No, thank ye,” replied the farmer, “ I’ve got to git 
back’s quick’s I kin to git ma hay in. I broke tew 
knives in ma machine this mornin’ an’ had ta come daown 
to git them an’ a butter ferkin, an’ then I’m goin’ back 
jist’s quick’s I kin git thar.” 

“ Well,” said Mr. Harmon, looking up from the note 
which he had glanced through, “ this is fine hay weather, 
and I suppose you must make hay while the sun shines.” 

“Yes, but I’me tell ye,” said the farmer, “hay aint 
goin’ ta be this year what it was last — they aint no bot- 
tom to it ; an’ I notice ez I come ’ong, tha winrows er 
mighty thin an’ far ’part. Tha weather’s bin too dry,” 
he went on, “’specially in May, an’ then when we did 

[24] 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


25 


git some rain, it growed up tall an’ made a good show, 
but ’twas thin, an’ when ye come ta cut it, it all dries 
upta nothin’.” With these words he had reached the door, 
where, turning half around, he added: “ Doc’s boy said 
they wasn’t no answer, so I aint waitin’ fer none.” 

“All right sir,” said Mr. Harmon, “good-day.” 

“Good-day,” replied the farmer, making a short nod 
over his shoulder as he disappeared through the doorway. 

The note was an invitation from Mr. Harmon’s old 
friend. Dr. Agens, to spend Sunday with him. The 
doctor lived at a little hamlet known as Cook’s Corners, 
six miles over the hills from Plainfield, where he had 
tacked up his tin sign when he began to practice years 
before, and the only place in which it had ever been dis- 
played. 

The doctor was a short, stout man, some twelve years 
Mr. Harmon’s senior, clean shaven and ruddy faced. He 
was a great lover of good tobacco, a good story and a 
good book. Owing to the loss of the toes of both feet, he 
walked with the aid of a crutch and a cane. Some years 
before, while making a night call in a howling storm, his 
horse, floundering through a great snowdrift, became 
caught fast in the depths, and the doctor, rolling out from 
his cover of buffalo robes, took a shovel from under the 
sleigh seat, where he always carried one on long winter 
rides, and shoveled the horse and his way out. While 
working thus in the deep snow, his feet became chilled, 
and after returning to the sleigh, he suffered greatly till 
he reached his destination, two miles farther on. There 
it was found that his feet were badly frozen, and subse- 
quently all of his toes and a portion of one foot were 
amputated. On account of this disability, most of his 
time was passed in his carriage and in his office chair, 
but such limitation never altered his happy, genial dis- 


26 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


position. He was as sympathetic as a woman, and had 
a heart that would not harm a fly. Among the country 
people to whose physical infirmites he ministered, he was 
highly esteemed for his professional skill, and affection- 
ately regarded as counselor and friend in every trouble. 

The fast friendship between the doctor and Mr. Har- 
mon began when the former studied medicine under 
old Dr. Upham whose residence, in those days, adjoined 
that of the Harmons in Plainfield, and grew more stead- 
fast as the passage of time made less apparent the differ- 
ence in their ages. To Mr. Harmon’s inquiring mind 
when a boy, there was a sort of mystery about the old 
doctor’s office next door. Occasionally he got a glimpse 
of closets full of bottles, of surgical instruments and 
apparatus, and the specimens in jars of alcohol. The 
old doctor was rather gruff, at least with boys, and 
Johnny, as he was then called, for that reason had never 
obtained the greatly desired privilege of lingering within 
the doctor’s office longer than was requisite for the dis- 
charge of an errand, till the pleasant-faced young man 
from Cook’s Corners came there to study. Then came 
Johnny’s opportunity also, to satisfy his curiosity, and 
in his daily visits to his new-found friend he soon saw 
and learned so much that at home he could talk of little 
else, and they all began to call him “doctor.*' The friend- 
ship thus established grew firmer as they grew older, 
owing to the fact that they were alike in tastes, but some- 
what different in disposition. Mr. Harmon was quick 
and full of impulse; Dr. Agens slower and more con- 
servative, but both alike radical in thought, with a liking 
for delving deep to the root of things. 

The next day, Saturday, Mr. Harmon went over to 
the stable in the rear of the village tavern and engaged 
a carriage and driver to take him over to Cook’s Corners. 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


27 


The weather continuing very warm, he directed that the 
start should not be made till after sundown when driv- 
ing would be more agreeable in the cooler evening. His 
visits to the doctor were usually made on Sunday, for 
no reason particularly, except, perhaps, that absence 
from his desk on that day would not entail the loss of 
an opportunity to observe practice in the office of Smith 
and Ramsdall, although, as a matter of fact, he might be 
absent a week, particularly at this season of the year, 
without sacrificing his opportunities as a student-at-law 
to any great extent. 

At the appointed hour in the evening, Joe Fraker, the 
driver, brought the carriage around to the house, and as 
he drew up at the “horse-block” Mr. Harmon came 
through the gate with a linen duster on his arm, and 
seating himself in the carriage, they started off at once. 
For a mile or more the road was level, and the horse, 
comir.g into the cool air, fresh from the stable, pulled 
for a freer rein. Very soon, however, his ardor cooled 
as he began to climb the hills, and progress, though 
slower, was none the less enjoyable in the refreshing air 
which improved as the road led higher. It was a moon- 
less summer night, when the starlight overhead seemed 
to be dissipated and lost before it reached the earth, 
and fields and woodland were enveloped in shadows that 
seemed to emanate from the ground. 

Conversation, which was lively enough when they set 
out, languished as they drove farther into the night, until 
at length, they went on in silence, as if lulled by the still- 
ness about them. They rode on in this way for some 
time, until, as they were passing an old farmhouse, 
scarcely discernible among the dark foliage that sur- 
rounded it, Joe broke the silence saying: “I’ve heard 


28 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


tell that ’afe house is haunted,” motioning toward it with 
his whip. 

“ Who lives there ?” inquired Mr. Harmon, as if roused 
from a reverie. 

“Nobody,” answered Joe, “there aint nobody bin 
livin’ there fer years.” 

“Well,” said Mr. Harmon, “I never noticed it par- 
ticularly; who owns it ?” 

“ I dunno,” answered Joe, “guess ’taint worth much 
to nobody if people can’t live in it.” 

“Now Joe,” said Mr. Harmon, as if appealing for a 
truthful statement, “you don’t believe in ghosts, do you ?” 

“Well, Mr. Harmon,” replied Joe in tones so serious 
as to indicate that he was very much in earnest, “ I dun- 
no — I’ve never seen any, but I’ve heard tell of ’em a good 
deal. I know I’ve heard things, and seen some things 
I can’t explain, and whether ’twas ghosts or not, I can’t 
say.” 

“ Tell me about it,” asked Mr. Harmon in a way sug- 
gesting a wish to be amused. 

“ Well,” began Joe, “ when I lived on the Sackett farm 
over on th’ east road. I’d bin over in th’ lot one day, 
hoein’ ’taters,<an’ long ’bout a little afore sundown I come 
over to th’ house to make ready for milkin’. It’s a red 
house, ye know, an’ stands facing the road, with th’ kitchin 
an’ woodshed runnin’ back to one end, an’ a covered 
stoop along the whole side of it, an’ steps at the back 
end. Well, I found when I got to th’ house, that my wife 
an’ th’ children wasn’t at home, but had prob’ly gone 
down to Pete Harney’s, next house down the road where 
they used to go visitin’ every little while. When they 
got home they told me that’s where they’d bin. Well, 
I went into th’ kitchin and walked over to th’ sink to one 
side, where th’ pump was, an’ went to pumpin’ myself a 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


29 


drink o’ water. Just as I got th’ dipper full, I heard 
someone with heavy boots on, cornin’ along th’ stoop to 
th’ kitchin door, an’ as I turned round th’ sound o’ th’ 
steps came right in th’ door and walked across th’ kitchin 
floor right before me, an’ through a door into th’ next 
room an’ stopped. I was dumfounded, fer I couldn’t see 
a thing, although th’ sun was shinin’ outside, an’ it was 
good daylight yet. I sot down th’ dipper an’ walked into 
th’ room where th’ sound o’ th’ steps’d gone, an’ sir, just 
as I got to th’ middle o’ th’ room, they begun again an’ 

. walked right roun’ me an’ out into th’ kitchin again an’ 
across to th’ door, an’ me followin’ it, an’ out on th’ 
stoop an’ along th’ length on it, an’ down th’ steps an’ 
off into th’ grass.” 

“ Weren’t you scared ?” inquired Mr. Harmon. 

“Not a bit,” replied Joe very emphatically. “You 
know a feller can stand a lot o’ this ghost business in 
broad daylight.” 

“ Don’t you think someone played a trick on you ?” 
asked Mr. Harmon. 

“ Well, I guess not,” said Joe very positively, “there 
couldn’t nobody play a trick like that.” 

“ Did you ever have any similar experience at night ?” 
asked Mr. Harmon. 

“ Yes, when we lived up on th’ Harris place,” began 
Joe again, “ we used to hear lots o’ noises, but we never 
saw anythin’.” 

“There’s the doctor’s light,” broke in Mr. Harmon, 
as they made a turn in the road. 

“Sure enough,” said Joe, “guess he’s expectin’ ye. 
Why!” he resumed, “some nights after we’d gone to 
bed, we used to hear th’ awfulest slammin’ an’ crashin’ 
an’ bangin’ upstairs, as if th’ roof was a-comin’ in. We 
often used to get up an’ take a candle an’ go upstairs 


30 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


where th' children slept, fearin’ 'somethin’d happened to 
them, but there they’d be, all asleep an’ quiet, as though 
nothin’d happened, an’ everythin’ in its place. We got 
so, after a while, we didn’t pay no ’tention to it.” 

“ For how long did you continue to hear those noises 
asked Mr. Harmon. 

“Oh, as long,” answered Joe, “ as we lived there.” 

“ What do you think caused them ?” he queried. 

“ I dunno,” replied Joe. “I know there was no one 
but me an’ ma wife an’ th’ children in th’ house, an’ all 
on us together couldn’t begin to make th’ racket we 
heard. Why! sometimes it was like a crash o’ thunder.” 

“ You’re sure it wasn’t ?” queried Mr. Harmon. 

“Well,” Joe answered, slightly nettled, “it couldn’t 
thunder every night, an’ when th’ sky was clear an’ th’ 
stars an’ moon shinin’.” 

“Very true,” said Mr. Harmon, as if to compensate 
for his question, and then, after a moment’s silence: 
“ There is more in this world than is printed in books.” 

“ That’s true as you live,” added Joe, with assuring 
positiveness. 

At this, they arrived in front of the doctor’s, where- 
upon Mr. Harmon leaped out of the carriage just as the 
front door opened and Mrs. Agens and Ralph, their son, 
came out on the porch. 

“ Is that you, Mr. Harmon ?” called out Mrs. Agens. 

“ Yes,” he answered, “a little late but pardonable, I 
hope, in such weather.” 

Joe was turning the horse around for the homeward 
journey and Mr. Harmon bade him good-night. “ Good- 
night,” answered Joe as he drove away in the darkness, 

Mr. Harmon took off his duster, and after shaking it, 
threw it across his arm and went within where cordial 
welcome awaited him. 


CHAPTER V. 


When Mr. Harmon came downstairs the next morning, 
he observed that the house was very quiet, and seeing 
no one about the rooms, he strolled along the hall and 
through the open doorway to the porch, where he dis- 
covered Mrs. Agens in the front yard among the flower- 
beds. 

“ Good-morning, Mrs. Agens,” he called out, “ I see 
you are an early worshiper at the altar of the beautiful.” 

“ Oh, good-morning, Mr. Harmon,” she answered, ris- 
ing up from a bed of pansies and turning toward him 
with a large bouquet in her hand. “Yes, I’m a regular 
devotee here, late and early.” Then, walking around the 
flower-beds and out to the walk in front of the steps, 
she said: “This spring I took it upon myself to look 
after these flowers,” motioning toward the flower-beds 
with her disengaged hand, “and I’ve been out here 
early and late digging and weeding and watering, some- 
times till my back is ready to break in two. The doctor 
often scolds about it, but I do so like to see them looking 
nice, and I guess the extra work’ll do me more good 
than harm.” 

“ Where is the doctor ?” asked Mr. Harmon, going 
down the steps and bending over to inhale the fragrance 
of the flowers which Mrs. Agens held up to him. 

“ The doctor hasn’t got up yet,” she replied, “he was 
away on a call last night from one o’clock till flve this 
morning, and he’s sleeping yet.” Then mounting the 
steps, she continued: “but come in — we won’t wait for 
him, we’ll have breakfast and he can have his when he 
gets up by and by.” 


31] 


32 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


As he accompanied her, Mr. Harmon said: “ That is 
the real hardship of a doctor’s life; I’m sure it would 
never do for me, for I must have my sleep regularly, 
whatever else happens.” 

Entering the dining-room, Mrs. Agens placed the 
flowers in a blue pitcher standing upon the breakfast 
table which did service as a flower-vase, and assigning 
Mr. Harmon a chair, they seated themselves at the table. 
As the maid came in to serve the meal, Mrs. Agens 
said to her: “ Sara, go and call Ralph to breakfast, I think 
he is out in the barn with Jerry.” 

“ No he isn’t,” replied Sara, “ that Bronson boy came 
after him about half an hour ago to have him go over to 
his house to breakfast. They’re going to the Sunday 
School picnic — Ralph said you promised him he could 
go early.” 

“Well, I believe I did,” said Mrs. Agens, “but he 
hadn’t ought to go without his breakfast.” Then address- 
ing herself to Mr. Harmon, she continued: “The boys 
are going to have charge of the lemonade stand, and they 
are so excited about it they can’t wait for the time to 
come, I suppose.” 

After breakfast, Mrs. Agens took from a pile of papers 
and magazines on a stand near the window, the latest 
copy of the Plainfield Farmer, and handing it to Mr. 
Harmon, told him to make his own selection of a com- 
fortable corner, while she looked after the morning house- 
work. 

The doctor’s office was attached to the house on the 
east side, and was reached by a covered porch or way, 
extending from the dining-room door back to the office. 
Mr. Harmon walked along this way, paper in hand, and 
through the office to a sort of broad platform, the entire 
width of the building on the south side, and roofed over 


KAtHERiNE BARRY, 


33 

by the thick branches of a nearby apple tree. The plat- 
form had a railing along the sides, and a small table stood 
in the center and easy armchairs about. This was the 
doctor’s favorite place in summer weather, where he 
read, and smoked, and often dozed and dreamed. This 
retreat was known to Mr. Harmon, for here he had 
passed many pleasant Sunday afternoons with the doc- 
tor, and here he would await him now. 

Seating himself in a chair with his back toward the 
railing and the light, he looked over the news items in 
the Farmer, quite all his personal knowledge already, and 
had nearly finished a column article on “An Improved 
Method of Hiving Bees,” when he heard the sound of 
the doctor’s crutch and cane coming along the covered 
way from the house. 

“ Aha, ha,” said the doctor, coming through the office 
to where Mr. Harmon was sitting,^ “ I knew where to 
find you.” 

“Hello, Doctor,” answered Mr. Harmon, “how are 
you this morning ?” 

“ Fine as a flute,” answered the doctor, seating him- 
self in his chair,and then repeating it : “ fine as a flute, my 
boy.” Laying his crutch and cane across the table, he 
went on: “ When I awoke a few minutes ago and looked 
out at this beautiful sky and inhaled the pure, fresh air 
of this new day, and considered for a moment the light 
and beauty and worth of it all, and of how powerless 
man is in all his boasted cunning and strength to produce 
the merest fragment of it even for a moment, I felt, as 
I often do, so impressed by the power, the wisdom and 
the goodness behind it all that, in my heart, I worshiped 
in gratitude and admiration whatever and wherever the 
cause may be.” 

Before he could proceed further, as he seemed about 


34 


KATHERINE BARRY, 


to do, Mrs. Agens came bustling through the office, ask- 
ing as she appeared: “Doctor, what will you have for 
breakfast ?” 

“Oh,” answered the doctor, “tell Sara to bring me 
a dish of strawberries and a chunk of that Mother Hub- 
bard cake and a cup of milk — that’s all the breakfast I 
want.” 

“ Won’t you have some scrambled eggs and hashbrown 
potatoes ?” she inquired. 

“ No, no,” answered the doctor, shaking his head vig- 
orously in pseudo-impatience, ‘ ‘ the berries and cake are 
all I want now.” 

Mrs. Agens started to go, but turned back at the office 
door and asked: “ Sha’nt I bring you out a piece of cus- 
tard pie ?” 

“ Oh, bless you, no,” said the doctor, throwing his head 
back on his chair, and then quickly raising it again, he 
added: “All right, bring it along for John, and we’ll 
lunch together.” Mrs. Agens darted off without another 
word. 

Mr. Harmon, who had been looking on in smiling 
silence, folded the newspaper over and over into a small 
bundle as he said:“ Doctor, if I should marry a wife like 
that, I’d consider myself the lucky one in a thousand.” 

The doctor chuckled a pleased little laugh and said : 
“ Well, you go and hook up to that Barry girl and I guess 
you’ll find your luck is all right.” Then he chuckled 
again as he looked at Mr. Harmon with merry mischief 
in his eyes. 

]\Ir. Harmon smiled, and tilting back his chair against 
the railing, said: “Now Doctor, don’t give advice that 
you are not prepared to be responsible for.” 

“ Oh,” said the doctor, arching his eyebrows and assum- 
ing a serious look; “ I more than mean it.” Whether 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


35 


he wouid have said more is unknown, for at that moment 
Mrs. Agens, accompanied by Sara, came through the 
office, carrying a generous piece of pie on a plate, while 
Sara bore the strawberries and cake and milk on a tray 
for the doctor. Mrs. Agens, holding the plate in one 
hand, took with the other the doctor’s crutch and cane, 
and placed them at one side against the railing, and then 
drawing the small table up between Mr. Harmon and 
the doctor, she placed upon it the plate containing the 
pie in front of Mr. Harmon, and taking the tray from 
Sara, she lifted from it a napkin and a fork, which she 
laid beside Mr. Harmon’s plate, and then placed the tray 
ill front of the doctor. “ There,” she said in a tone of 
satisfaction, “ now, if there’s an3dhing else you’d like. 
I’ll get it for you.” 

“ All we want now, Myra,” said the doctor in assuring 
tones, “is to be left to ourselves.” 

As Mr. Harmon spread his napkin over his knee, he 
said, looking at his piece of pie: “ This looks like a sec- 
tion from a prize-winner at the county fair.” 

“Well, I hope it is good,” said Mrs. Agens, with a 
pleased smile, “ it’s fresh out of the oven with only time 
to cool, and if it’s good at all, it’s good while it’s fresh.” 

The doctor had begun tasting his berries, but laying 
down his spoon and leaning back in his chair, he said: 
“Before you go, Myra, I wish you’d lay my sticks near 
my chair — you know I always want them where I can 
put my hand on them.” Mrs. Agens put the crutch and 
the cane down at the right side of his chair, and then, 
rearranging the dishes on the tray as more convenient 
for his use, she said: “ Now, if you want anything, call 
to me,” and followed Sara through the office, back to 
the house. 

After partaking of their delicacies a few moments in 


36 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


silence, Mr. Harmon asked: “Was your ride last night 
a very long one ?” 

“ Oh, no,” replied the doctor, “ some two miles or so^ 
but it was one of those cases that often takes time — the 
ushering into the world, of a human being. Do you 
know,” continued the doctor with a sort of half- apologetic 
smile, “that while waiting on such cases I always think 
of the possibility of privilege and honor that may be 
mine in attending at the entrance into this world of one 
who, however lowly and humble the surroundings are, 
may some day lead the world — a Newton, a Darwin, a 
Napoleon or a Mozart. Is it not as possible as it is enter- 
taining to think so ? Surely,” he went on, answering 
his query, “how little, though, I dare say, did any one 
of the doctors attending at the birth of those just men- 
tioned, dream that the babe which he held in his arms 
was one day to receive the homage of kings, and its name 
to shine in imperishable glory in all the world’s history.” 

“ That’s all very true, doctor,” said Mr. Harmon, “ but 
I am inclined to the opinion that doctors, as a rule, are 
much oftener figuring out when and where the fee is 
coming from than what the baby may be or become in 
the future. Was it not Washington Irving who said: 
‘ Genius loves to nestle her offspring in strange places ?’ 
Yes,” he went on without a stop, “ I believe it was, and 
in reading the biographies of great men, I am often re- 
minded of the truth of it.” 

“ Genius,” said the doctor, leaving his spoon in the 
berries and reclining back in his chair, “this something 
called genius, is hard to define and harder yet to account 
for — did you ever think of it ? We all asstu^e to know,” 
he went on, “what constitutes genius, l ough your 
exact definintion may not agree with mine or that of any 
other. Then again, whence is it; how do you account 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


37 


for it ? How do you account for the genius born of an 
ignorant clod of a mother and a flat-pated cobbler for a 
father ?” 

“ Reincarnation explains that,” answered Mr. Harmon. 

“ Oh, bosh !” exclaimed the doctor, resuming his berries. 

“ Really,” continued Mr. Harmon, as he finished his 
pie and laid his napkin upon the table, “ I am prepared 
to admit certain of the propositions laid down by rein- 
carnationists, for instance, when they assert that, ‘ what 
begins in time must end in time,’ how is one to reason- 
ably gainsay it ?” 

“ Well,” replied the doctor without looking up from 
his dish, “ you might just as well end in time as to lose 
your identity in reincarnation.” 

“ Oh, no,” returned Mr. Harmon, “ such loss is only 
temporary, for finally, when in the full fruition of all 
experience, one arrives at perfection, he awakens, so 
to speak, to a realization of identity persisting through it 
all.” 

“ Now John,” asked the doctor, tapping the side of his 
dish with his spoon, “without going further into the 
philosophy of your reincarnation theory, let me ask you 
one question: if we lose identity at death or reincarna- 
tion, what about the ties of interest and affection between 
parent and child, husband and wife, friend and friend, 
made binding by the conditions of this life, and ever 
cherished for the lost in the hope, aye, the belief inherent 
in the heart of all peoples, that beyond the grave is re- 
union, restoration ?” 

“ Oh, don’t call it my theory,” said Mr. Harmon, evad- 
ing the quest “ I am only setting forth the proposi- 
tions laid doy;b as self-evident by reincamationists.” 

The doctor drank his cup of milk, and pushing back 
his chair from the table, said: “The popularity and 


38 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


Spread of reincarnation simply shows that there is some 
want, some yearning of the heart and mind which the 
Christian religion does not satisfy, and which through 


A cough by some one within the office interrupted him, 
and stopping, he hitched his chair about to face the office 
door and said: “Come in,” whereupon a frail-looking 
elderly woman dressed plainly in black, appeared in the 
doorway. “ Mrs. Emory, take a seat,” said the doctor, 
motioning Mr. Harmon, who had arisen to go, back to 
his chair. “ How are you to-day ?” asked the doctor, as 
she seated herself and, before she could answer, asking 
again : “ Have you been waiting long in the office — I did 
not notice when you came in.” 

“ Oh, not a very great while,” answered the woman, 
“ but I saw you were here, and so I waited.” 

“Well, you probably heard,” said the doctor, winking 
slyly at Mr. Harmon, “ our argument over reincarnation.” 

“ I don’t know anything about reincarnation,” replied 
the old woman, “ and I don’t know as I should want to.” 

“ Well,” said the doctor, looking at Mr. Harmon and 
then' at the old woman, “I don’t pretend to know very 
much about it myself, but from what I do know, I can say 
that the moral principle in it — its morality seems to be 
even better’than what we hear in some of the pulpits.” 

“Waal,” returned the woman, “ morality is good 
enough, as far as it goes, but as for me, give me the 
Bible.” Having delivered this, she straightened up in 
her chair with the air of having made unanswerable state- 
ment. 

The doctor turned to Mr. Harmon and said laugh- 
ingly: “ Mrs. Emory and I have some pretty lively tilts 
on religion once in awhile, but she generally gets the 
better of me.” At this, the severe lines in her face re- 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


39 


laxed into a pleased smile, bnt before she could say any- 
thing, the doctor asked: “Well, Mrs. Emory, what is 
the trouble to-day ?” 

“ Oh, it’s my dyspepsy, doctor, as usual — that pain and 
heartburn, and I come over arfter some of them powders 
that alius help me so.” 

“Aha!” exclaimed the doctor, picking up his crutch 
and cane, “we’ll make that lose its identity forthwith.” 

The old lady looked at the doctor inquiringly for a 
moment and seemed about to say something, but he ap- 
peared so occupied in getting upon his feet that, after 
glancing at Mr. Harmon, she settled back in her chair 
in silence. In a few minutes the doctor called to her 
from within, and she arose and went into the office where 
he was heard giving directions and instructions, after 
which, she took her departure, and the doctor, smok- 
ing his pipe, returned to his chair and laid his crutch and 
cane on the floor beside it. 

“ That woman,” said the doctor, taking his pipe in his 
hand and watching the blue smoke ascending from the 
bowl like a string in the air, “ is a good example of the 
kind of simple, trusting, confident Christian people of 
fifty y-^ars ago. They were happy in their belief and 
coLifldent in what they expected, not what they under- 
stood. I meet such people once in a while, but, like foxes, 
they’re getting scarcer. I almost covet their spiritual 
contentment and serene assurance, but, you know, there’s 
got to be an awakening some day. I deal with them a 
good deal as you would with children — go far enough for 
amusement but never to offend, or hurt their feelings. 
I was disappointed in not being able to start her a-going 
just now, so that you might see a good specimen of all- 
sufficient faith, but your presence overawed her, I guess.” 
He gave a little chuckle as he said this, and replacing his 


40 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


pipe in his mouth, began smoking vigorously, as if to 
make up for lost time. 

“ I could see you were up to something,” said Mr. 
Harmon. “ She looked so frail I only thought of that, 
and possibly the display of some symptom.” 

“Yes, she’s frail,” said the doctor, “ and the cause of 
her fraility is easily explained. She is suffering what, 
in the books, is called malassimilation, she does not de- 
rive sufficient nutriment from what she eats and conse- 
quently her system is starving and wasting while she is 
overeating.” 

“ How is that ?” inquired Mr. Harmon. 

“Well,” began the doctor, after making two or three 
preparatory puffs, “she eats too much, in addition to 
eating what she should not, her stomach becomes over- 
loaded, overworked, and proper digestion failing, fer- 
mentation sets in, which not only destroys the nutritive 
properties of the food taken, but also acts as an irritant 
upon stomach and bowels. She suffers some pain or dis- 
comfort and is relieved by a few doses checking the fer- 
mentation process and unloading the intestinal tract. 
In a day or two, she is again overeating and the same 
process is gone over again and again. All this time her 
system does not get its proper supply of nourishment 
through blood enriched by good digestion, and she grows 
thin and frail. The same over-indulgence in other cases 
results in too much avoirdupois. With digestion like an 
ostrich, they assimilate well and grow fat, then fatter, 
until the fat is a burden or a hindrance or a deformity, 
and then they take anti-fat, and obesity pills, and diet, 
and even fast, perhaps, for a little while, but that is not 
to their liking and they soon give it up as of no use and 
go back to their feeding.” 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


41 


“ Such people,” said Mr. Harmon with marked posi- 
tiveness, ‘‘do not deserve pity.” 

“ Well,” said the doctor, taking a puff or two to keep 
his pipe alive, “as to that, there are very few who 
do, for overeating is universal and the source of four 
fifths of all sickness. Were it not for this overeatirg 
which is simply animal selfishness, there would be very 
little for doctors to do.” 

“ What should be taken as a rule or guide ?” asked Mr. 
Harmon. 

“Appetite controlled by reason,” answered the doctor 
promptly. “ As a matter of fact, we do not wait on ap- 
petite, but eat because it is mealtime. Some people in 
good health are never hungry because they habitually 
anticipate hunger by eating on the hour, and there is no 
need of hunger, no use for it. When an organ or a func- 
tion is not used or exercised, it begins to atrophy, to dis- 
appear, and in time is eliminated as no longer required 
in the economy, just as we are eliminating the faculty of 
smelling, and the fifth or little toe on each foot. I tell 
my patients as a rule, to eat to live, not live to eat, and 
when they get sick or indisposed, to fast for twenty-four 
or forty-eight hours and then, if they do not feel better, 
they may send for me.” 

“ Do they follow that advice ?” inquired Mr. Harmon 
with a knowing look. 

“ Oh, no/’ replied the doctor, shaking his head, “self- 
love or love of self indulgence is too strong and overrules 
all other rules. Even when sick, instead of allowing the 
embarrassed organs rest or lighter work as Nature in- 
tended by withdrawing desire or tolerance of food, they 
continue the feeding by having recourse to every kind 
of pap or delicacy that the mind can devise to tempt and 
overcome the precaution of Nature.” 


42 


KATHERINE BARRY 


Here Sara appeared and said dinner was ready. 

“ I fear our topic has not been very appetizing,” said 
the doctor, reaching down for his crutch and cane. 

“ I agree with you so fully, doctor,” said Mr. Harmon, 
‘ ‘ that I believe we might part with a good deal of appe- 
tite and yet have enough left.” 

“ Well,” returned the doctor with a chuckle, after get- 
ting to his feet and starting for the door, “come along 
and let us see how much you’ve got left.” 


CHAPTER VI. 


Late in the afternoon the doctor suggested that Mr. 
Harmon accompany him on his ride in making a few calls 
that were promised for that day, “and,” added the doc- 
tor, “in coming back I’ll drive around by the mill road 
and leave you at Mr. Barry’s where I know, of course, 
you are due to-night.” 

“All right,” said Mr. Harmon, “ I should like to go 
with you very much.” 

“And you would like better to be left,” said the doc- 
tor with a chuckle, “ when we get to the right place.” 

In response to the doctor’s call, Jerry, the stable boy, 
brought the carriage out, and the doctor and Mr. Harmon 
set off as the rays of the declining sun were losing their 
fires, and the narrowing shadows of the trees were stretch- 
ing eastward. 

At the first stop made, the doctor went in to see the 
little stranger whom he had welcomed the night before. 
The baby’s brother and sister, both under ten years of 
age, lingered at the gate to talk with Mr. Harmon, who 
remained sitting in the carriage. 

“ I know the doctor’s horse’s name,” said the little boy 
.sitting on the lower frame of the gate and pushing him- 
self back and forth with his feet. 

“ What is it ?” asked Mr. Harmon. 

“ Dan,” he answered, checking his back and forth jour- 
ney to see how the announcement was taken. 

Mr. Harmon remaining quite unaffected, he resumed 
his movement as he said: “ My pa’s got three horses.” 

“ He has !” said Mr. Harmon, feigning wonder. 

[43] 


44 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


“Yes,” continued the little fellow, “ and a colt.** 

“ I suppose the colt belongs to you, doesn’t it ?” in- 
quired Mr. Harmon. 

“ Yes,” he answered, getting up from the gate and put- 
ting his hands in his pockets, as he looked down at his 
legs as if to take note of his stature; “ pa says he’s going 
to be mine when I grow up to be a big boy.” 

The little girl was standing near the fence listening 
and watching them both, and Mr. Harmon, turning to 
her, asked: “ And what have you got, little girl ?” 

“ I’ve got a dolly,” she answered, putting her arm 
through the fence and looking at her fingers as they re- 
appeared two pickets beyond. 

“ Haven’t you got a new baby in the house ?” he asked. 

The little girl made a nod of assent that bumped her 
chin against her breast, and a look of pride beamed from 
her pretty face. 

“ What is the baby’s name ?” he continued. 

“ ’Taint got any,” she answered timidly. 

“The doctor brought it,” put in the boy, stepping 
around more directly facing Mr. Harmon, “in that black 
box under the seat.” 

“ Where do you suppose he got it ?” asked Mr. Harmon. 

“ I dunno,” said the boy; “guess he found it some- 
wheres.” 

Hereupon the doctor came out and the boy held the 
gate opened back to the widest inch for him to pass 
through. 

“ Eddie, you’re a good boy,” said the doctor, pushing 
his medicine chest under the seat. Noticing the little 
girl as he seated himself in the carriage, he held back his 
horse, wont to start as soon as it felt his hand on the 
reins, and asked: “ Florrie, how do you like that baby — 
do you want me to take it away to-day ?” 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


45 


“ No,” she said, shaking her head and, as a look of 
anxiety suddenly appeared in her face, she turned and 
ran through the gate toward the house with her brother 
following close behind. The doctor chuckled as he looked 
after them, and then drove on again. 

“ I asked the little boy,” said Mr. Harmon, “ where he 
supposed you got the baby, and he said you brought it in 
your box, and he guessed you found it somewhere.” 

The doctor laughed and said: “ You’re lucky that he 
did not take a notion to be your inquisitor and ask ques- 
tions that would confound even you, young Mr. Lawyer. 
How limited, after all, is human knowledge, when even 
little children may ask questions that no one can answer, 
that have never been answered and never will be ! Wheth- 
er we look beyond the cradle or beyond the grave, all 
is impenetrable mystery. As you know, in olden times 
people who were not so occupied in money-getting as we 
are, reasoned long on these questions, and reasoned well, 
but finished, after all, where they began. They occupied 
themselves more with the question of a hereafter, some 
of them, as you know, likening the body to a musical in- 
strument and the soul to the sound produced by it. When 
the instrument was destroyed, the sound could no longer 
be produced nor exist. Others, that the soul, upon the 
death of the body, sought habitation in other bodies, 
sometimes in lower animals and even plants, and per- 
sisted, because indestructible, in some form of animated 
matter. But all such speculation did not produce even a 
reasonable hypothesis, and to-day, in this nineteenth cen- 
tury, we are all yet without a solution, without a demon- 
strable conclusion as to whence we came or whither we 
are going. I have about come to the conclusion that it 
was not in the purpose of the great designer that we 
should know these things. If it was, some data, some 


46 


KATHERINE RARRY. 


means, some provision would have been made jnst as 
provision was made in the deposits of coal, iron and 
gold for the needs which to-day are being supplied by 
them. Whatever is requisite for our condition and rela- 
tions in this life seems to have been anticipated and 
wisely provided. A conception of mathematical truths, 
indispensable to all mechanical progress and commercial 
relations is within the powers of the minds of all peoples 
ainthe world over, 2x2=4 is intelligible in every corner 
of the earth. The designer foresaw that to be neces- 
sary, and so the plan included it. I infer, therefore, that 
if a knowledge of our hereafter was even as requisite or 
necessary to our well-doing or well-being as such things 
are, that the same wise designer would have laid the 
means to that knowledge within our reach, just as he did 
the coal and mineral and precious gems under a stone for 
our finding.” 

“ The world, then, according to your reasoning,” said 
Mr. Harmon, “is good enough just as it is; its lack of 
faith and its immorality not so great evils as the 
preacher would have us believe.” 

“Morals,” returned the doctor, “is a matter of law, 
and law, as you know, is a matter of procedure. Morals 
and religion are in no wise necessarily connected, they 
are usually associated together just as are ham and eggs, 
that’s all. A person may be irreligious and yet strictly 
moral, his morality the result of his regard for justice, 
equity. On the other hand, one may be religious and 
immoral, even consistently with his religion.” 

Here the doctor drew up at a cottage by the roadside, 
and went in to see a patient. When he returned, Mr. 
Harmon noticed a saddened look in his eyes, and asked : 
“A serious case there, doctor ?” 

“ Yes,” he answered, “ before to-morrow’s sun he will 


Katherine barry, 


4 ? 


have solved the great riddle, and know more, if he knows 
anything, than you or I or all the world’s wisest, poor 
old wood-chopper as he is. He has been dying of con- 
sumption for six months past — a hopeless case, but now, 
within six hours, the poor old fellow will find release and 
rest. If there is a future, then his simple honest life will 
secure him peace: if death ends all, then he will rest in 
oblivion. If there is no future, there can be no sense of 
loss, for without consciousness we can not be aware that 
we ever had an existence.” 

“Do you think,” inquired Mr. Harmon, “that man 
will ever wholly dispense with religion ?” 

“ No, I do not,” answered the doctor, “but as he ad- 
vances it will become simpler through the elimination of 
all that relates to creed, dogma and ceremony. It will 
be reduced to something as simple as : to so live as to be 
a good neighbor and a good citizen. That embraces 
every duty and obligation of life and, when you consider 
what it means and all it includes, you will agree that it 
is all-sufficient.” 

When they reached the mill road, the light had faded 
from the western sky and the fireflies were twinkling in 
the deepening gloom over the meadows. The road skirted 
the valley of the river upon which, a mile above, was the 
great dam and the old gristmill which gave to the road its 
name. The doctor’s horse, at a good pace, soon brought 
them to the Barry farm, where Mr. Harmon alighted, 
and, bidding the doctor good-night, walked along the 
driveway leading up to the house, a large, substantial old 
structure, painted red with white “ trimmings.” It stood 
well back on the east side of the road, running north and 
south, with great elms shading the wide lawn and arching 
over the drive, beyond which, on the south side, was a 
dense old orchard, almost concealing the great barns and 


48 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


stables behind it, at which the drive terminated. Over 
the front door of the house was a sort of projecting hood, 
supported by two turned posts with a seat built in on 
each side. In later years a porch had been added on the 
south side facing the drive and extending along the front 
of the sitting-room and kitchen, which, by the ample 
growth of a Virginia creeper, had become so latticed in 
that even at midday it was as secluded from the sun’s 
rays as the inner rooms of the house. 

As Mr. Harmon drew nearer, the sound of voices 
reached him through this leafy barrier of the 
porch, and a moment later Kate tripped down the steps 
and came forward to meet him. She was dressed in 
white, with a moss rose, Mr. Harmon’s favorite flower, 
in her hair. Upon meeting him, she extended her hand, 
saying: “Good-evening, Mr. Harmon, we were just 
speaking of you when I heard a carriage stop, and looking 
out, I was sure I recognized you coming up the drive.” 

“ Good-evening,” he returned, “ talking about me, eh! 
Now, how did I happen to be the honored subject of your 
conversation ?” 

“ Oh, we were talking of Judge Sheldon’s address at 
Commencement,” answered Kate, “ and I said I thought 
he was a very fine speaker, but father declared he could 
not ‘ hold a candle to Mr. Harmon.’ ” 

Mr. Harmon smiled as he said : “ I see that I established 
my reputation with your father when I made that speech 
over at the Flat Rock schoolhouse a week before the 
election last fall, for he speaks of it nearly every time I 
meet him.” 

“Yes indeed,” said Kate, “ I often heard him speak of 
that, and he referred to it just now. But, come in, I want 
to introduce you to Father McNally.” 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


49 

“ Who is Father McNally ?” he inquired halting sud- 
denly. 

“Why, he is our priest,” answered Kate. “He said 
mass to-day at Plainfield, and we invited him over to take 
dinner and rest with us till the cool evening for his ride 
home — he lives at High Falls.” 

As they entered the porch, Kate introduced Mr. Har- 
mon, and when they were seated, Mr. Barry added: 
“ Misther Harmon is goin’ to be a loiyer — he’s shtudyin’ 
law with Smith and Ramsdall, over in Plainfield, two o’ 
th’ shmartest loiyers in th’ county.” 

“ Ah,” said Father McNally, “ the law is a noble pro- 
fession. I have always had great liking for the law. If 
I had been left to my own choice when I was a young 
man, I would have studied law, but my education was 
in the hands of an uncle who sent me to Louvain to be 
educated for the priesthood.” 

“How long have you been in the ministry, Mr. Mc- 
Nally ?” inquired Mr. Harmon. 

“ I was ordained when I was twenty-two — twenty-four 
years ago next Easter,” said the priest in a depreciating 
tone. 

“ There’s no loiyer in the wurled that has th’ honor a 
priest has,” put in Mr. Barry, as if to counter the implied 
regret in the priest’s words, which he evidently did not 
like. 

“And besides,” added Mr. Harmon, “ministers are 
not sent, in the hereafter, where all lawyers are supposed 
to go.” 

At this they all laughed, and the priest said: “ ‘ Man 
proposes but God disposes.’ The more I see of life, the 
more I dwell on the truth in Shakespeare’s line: ‘there 
is a destiny that shapes our ends, rough hew them as we 
will.’ ” 


50 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


“Why, Father McNally!” exclaimed Kate, “do you 
believe in predestination ?” 

“ Oh no, not as such,” he replied, “ but I believe that 
the directing power ot God, through the dispensation of 
His grace, leads us often through ways not of our choice 
or seeking.” Then, as if to divert from the subject, he 
drew a cigar-case from his pocket and extended it to Mr. 
Harmon, as he asked: “ Do you smoke, Mr. Harmon ?” 

“No, thank you,” he answered, “ I have never been 
able to master tobacco, although in many attempts to do 
so, it has easily mastered me.” 

“Well,” almost sighed the priest as he drew a cigar 
from the case and proceeded to light it, “tobacco is a 
great solace. 

‘ Brother of Bacchus, later born, 

The old world was sure forlorn 
Wanting thee.’ ” 

As he quoted these lines the clock in the dining-room 
struck eight, whereupon, looking at his watch, he said: 
“ That is the second time I have been reminded that I 
must go. Mr. Barry, will you tell Andy to hitch up my 
horse right away ?” 

“ Don’t be in a hurry. Father McNally,” suggested the 
old man, and then rising to his feet, he added: “but I 
know ye have a long journey before ye.” 

At the striking of the clock, Mrs. Barry had gone into 
the sitting-room and lighted the lamp. As her husband 
approached the door to call Andy, she said :“ Shtay theyre 
father, I’ll tell ’im,” turning towards the kitchen. Before 
resuming his seat, Mr. Barry stepped over to the leafy 
entrance and looking out, said. “Ye betther take the 
pike back. Father McNally, for it’s quite dark, an’ it’s th’ 
safest even if it’s a mile or two longer.” 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


51 


“Oh yes, I shall take no chances,” replied the priest, 
“ although, for that matter, my horse is very sure-footed, 
and a trusty animal in the dark. When I can not see the 
road clearly, I give him the rein and feel safer than if I 
undertook to guide him.” 

“ Do you drive often in the night ?” inquired Mr. 
Harmon. 

“ Oh yes,” he replied, “ sick calls often take me out at 
night, and sometimes for long distances.” 

“ Then you share with the doctor the undesirable part 
of his profession, the night call ?” queried Mr. Harmon. 

“Yes, but the really undesirable feature of my life is 
its solitariness,” said the priest with something of bitter- 
ness in the tone in which he uttered the last word. “ To 
one fond of companionship, the isolation of a priest’s life 
is a sort of living tomb.” 

Kate, who had never before heard the priest give utter- 
ance to such sentiment, was quite shocked. At this 
moment, however, Andy brought the horse up in front 
of the steps, and, after taking his leave and lighting anew 
his cigar, the priest drove away into the night. 

A few minutes after the priest had gone, Mrs. Barry, 
who had entered the front part of the house to lock the 
hall door, returned to the sitting-room holding up both 
hands, in one of which was the priest’s breviary, as she 
exclaimed: “ Theyre now. Father McNally’s forgot ’is 
breevery !” 

“ ’Pon me word,” ejaculated Mr. Barry, slapping his 
knee. 

“ Why, mother, are you sure ?” asked Kate as she went 
into the sitting-room. Taking the book in her hand, she 
added, as she looked at the unfamiliar red and black print 
of the volume, “sure enough; why, how disappointed 
he’ll be when he misses it.” 


52 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


“Here, Andy,” called out Mr. Barry, “throw yer leg 
over Pete an’ see if ye can’t catch ’im — quick, now !” 

As soon as the horse could be bridled, Andy mounted 
him “ bare-back ” and was off after the priest, but shortly 
returned, saying: “ I wint as far as the fork o’ the road 
near the stone bridge, but I didn’t know which one he 
took, an’ so I thought I might as well come back.” 

“ Didn’t ye hear ’im say he’d keep th’ pike ?” demanded 
Mr. Barry with some impatience. 

“V/hafre ye talkin’ about ?” said Mrs. Barry, giving 
her husband a little push on the arm, “how’d he know 
— wasn’t he beyant in th’ barn, man ?” 

“ Well,” said Mr. Barry, as he took the book and care- 
fully placed it on the mantel, “ he’ll be back afther it. I’ll 
wager, before he goes very far.” 

As a matter of fact, the book rested on the mantel a 
week before it was called for, to the increasing daily won- 
derment of the household. At the end of that time a 
messenger came for it from the priest, who happened to 
be on a “ sick call ” at a house a few miles distant. 

Father McNally was about forty-five years of age, and 
of medium stature. He was a fine specimen physically 
of robust manhood, broad-shouldered, full-chested, and 
of erect and dignified carriage. His head was large and 
well-formed, and his features classical in outline. His 
hair, jet-black and of silky fineness, was worn rather long 
in wavy curls. His forehead was broad and high, his 
eyes so dark blue as at times to seem black, his nose 
Grecian, his mouth well-formed and supported by a strong 
chin. His face was what might be called square, and its 
expression kind and benevolent. His complexion was as 
fair as a maiden’s, with a rose fiush on his cheeks that 
a maiden might envy. His teeth were perfect, and when 
he smiled, dimples formed in his cheeks out of all com- 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


53 


port with a sacerdotal face. His voice was soft, rich and 
musical, and his manner easy, graceful and dignified. 
As a preacher, his eloquence was the pride of all his pa- 
risioners. It was the lecture platform, however, with its 
freedom from ecclesiastical limitations, that gave to his 
eloquence of voice and gesture the opportunity it required 
for its full expression, and which won for him his popu- 
lar reputation as an orator. He was a finished scholar, 
a fine writer — a man of more than average gifts and ac- 
complishments. He was very fond of society, of music 
and the arts. He showed marked preference for people 
outside his own church, and when among them, an op- 
portunity was afforded to see the man as he would be. 
On such occasions his manner was more after the form 
of people of the world, and he made no hesitancy in ex- 
pressing his discontent over the restrictions his calling 
laid upon his life and conduct, as was exemplified at the 
Barry household, where the presence of John Harmon 
alone was sufficient to lead him to forget his other listen- 
ers in the freer atmosphere with which he always en- 
dowed the society of no«i-Catholics. There were well- 
founded reports that at not infrequent times, he indulged 
altogether too freely in wine, and even appeared at the 
bedside of dying parishioners, on more than one occasion, 
in a maudlin condition to administer the last sacrament. 
But worst of all, no little scandal had been growing from 
reports of his conduct toward certain of the fair sex, even 
among his own people. These reports included also, his 
relations with his housekeeper, a buxom maiden whose 
family resided in one of his parishes, and were finally so 
widely known and believed, that they were working -sad 
havoc among his people, 


CHAPTER VII. 


The Catholics of Plainfield had no church structure of 
their own and services, therefore, were held in the town 
hall, hired for the occasion once in two weeks. The at- 
tending priest. Father McNally, visited the place regu- 
larly enough, but the confessions heard, and mass said, 
he returned to his residence at High F alls, and the Catho- 
lics of Plainfield were left to their cows and crops for 
another two weeks. During the preceding five years, 
there had been a good deal of desultory talk among the 
people concerning their need of a suitable church build- 
ing of their own, but the priest, failing to show interest 
in the matter, no action was taken, and the aspiration of 
the people failed, therefore, to materialize. 

Although Plainfield was the center of a rich agricul- 
tural district, its population was not as large as that of 
High Falls, eighteen miles distant, in the same county, 
which place, though founded later, owing to its excellent 
water power, had developed mills and manufacturies 
thereby increasing growth and population. The Catho- 
lic church and rectory at that place, situated on one of the 
principal streets, were quite imposing and well estab- 
lished, and the incumbent priest was regularly assigned 
to that place by the bishop, with Plainfield to the north 
as a mission. 

As time went by, rumors affecting the priest’s conduct 
multiplied, and were so often sustained by observation 
by the people themselves, even in and about Plainfield, 
that many neglected to attend mass or other religious 
duties, and sentiment against the priest was becoming 

[54] 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


55 


very bitter. In some way the condition of affairs at 
length reached the bishop, and one Sunday, quite two 
months following the occasion of Father McNally’s call 
at the Barry homestead, he was at the town hall in Plain- 
field on the appointed day to say mass. He had already 
said “early mass” at High Falls that morning, before 
leaving for the mission church, and was, therefore, to say 
“late mass” at Plainfield at eleven o’clock. At that 
hour the people who had already arrived were in their 
seats in the little town hall, and Johnny Feeny, the “ altar 
boy,” had “dressed” the improvised altar; the cards 
and candlesticks were in their places, as were also the 
chalice and cruets, and, there being no rectory room, the 
priest’s chasuble and stole were ready on one corner of 
the altar. Father McNally had donned his cassock, and 
was about to put on his surplice, when some one in the 
entry beckoned to Johnny Feeny, who had just lighted 
the candles. In a moment Johnny returned and whis- 
pered something in Father McNally’s ear, whereupon the 
priest stepped down from the platform and disappeared 
in the entry. 

Ten minutes later another priest, robed in his cassock, 
an entire stranger to the congregation, came from the 
entry, and mounting the platform, took up the prepara- 
tions for mass where Father McNally had left them. At 
this, there was great craning of necks, joining of heads, 
and whispered excitement among the people. Johnny 
Feeny, resuming his service, took from the large hand- 
bag, in which the priest conveyed the articles for the 
altar from place to place, the bottle in which was carried 
the sacramental wine and placed it at a corner of the altar 
in order for the priest to fill the cruet. As the stranger 
priest proceeded to do this, he was seen to pause, and, 
aft^r a motnent’s hegitation,turning about to the people, h^ 


56 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


stated that there would be no mass on that day, inasmuch 
as there was no wine at hand. So astonished were the 
people, that only after Johnny Feeny had begun to re- 
pack the linen, cards and candlesticks in the hand-bag, 
and the priest to don his street clothes, did they begin to 
leave their seats and go outside to ask, each his neighbor, 
what it all meant. As was learned from Johnny Feeny 
later, the bottle designed for carrying the wine was well 
supplied, but it contained whisky instead of wine. And 
the question unsettled in the minds of the people to this 
day is: if Father McNally had not been interfered with, 
would the kind of liquor, with which he had supplied the 
wine bottle, have been the least obstacle to proceeding 
with the mass! 

By eager and diligent inquiry, the congregation learned 
that the new priest. Father Logan, had been sent by the 
bishop to succeed Father McNally, with express instruc- 
tions to relieve him ^'■staiim; nulla re intercedente^" 
hence the abruptness of the transfer. 

Father McNally disappeared at once, presumably to 
report to his bishop. The last sight of him, by the con- 
gregation of Plainfield, was when he passed from the 
altar, at which he was preparing for mass, through the 
door into the entry, and no one ever after saw or heard 
of him in all that side of the diocese. 

His successor. Father Logan, was about thirty years 
of age, slightly under medium stature, dark complexioned 
and thickset. His large, square head was somewhat 
flattened at the top, his ears projecting, and his hair and 
beard black, thick and coarse. Flis forehead was low, 
with a great transverse wrinkle in the middle of it, and 
heavy eyebrows overshadowed a pair of cold, cunning 
gray eyes peeping at the world through half-opened eye- 
lids. His moiith was large^ his chip and lowQr face full 


Katherine Barry. 


S7 


and sensuous, and his neck thick and short. His voice 
was coarse and inflexible, and the expression of his face 
sullen and repelling. His carriage was stiffly erect, and 
his movements clumsy. He wore a Roman collar and 
high silk hat which, together with a long black frock 
coat, gave him a very clerical appearance and impressed 
the people accordingly, because in so marked contrast 
with the white shirt front and necktie, soft hat and sack 
coat which Father McNally wore. This clerical appear- 
ance was sustained by a reserved and distant manner, 
the very opposite of Father McNally’s genial affability, 
but the people, having lost confidence and dutiful regard 
for their old pastor, were prepared to see his better in 
any one succeeding him, who presented any indications 
to sustain them in the loyalty and support which they 
were always ready to bestow. 

For some time, the congregation remained in front of 
the town hall discussing in little groups the sudden and 
wholly unlooked-for event, with all the interest and ex- 
citement which the occasion aroused in the minds of 
people in whom devotion to their priest is equal, quite, 
to their devotion to their religion. With all his faults. 
Father McNally was still loved for his kind, genial dis- 
position by a great many, and admired by all for his rare 
abilities, therefore now, as they realized that he was so 
suddenly and irrevocably removed from them, his short- 
comings were lost sight of in the general sense of bereave- 
ment. 

“ Ah, thin, he was th’ fine priest,” said one. 

“ He wuz th’ man could preach th’ fine sermon,” said 
another. 

“ Well, I wish ’im good look wherever he goes,” said 
a third, and so it went; not a word of censure nor of 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


5S 

satisfaction, even by those who, an hour before, were 
most ready to denounce him. 

While the people were still in front of the hall, Johnny 
Feeny, who had accompanied the “new priest ” to the 
tavern, was seen driving back up the street in a carriage, 
and, as he drew up in front of the hall, he became at 
once the center of an interested group of questioners. 

“ Did you see Father McNally ?” was the first question. 

“ No, I did not,” answered Johnny. “ I guess he’s 
gone for good.” 

Johnny was a weazened little fellow of twenty odd 
years, brusque and officious in manner. He had grown 
up in the village and was known by every one as “ Johnny 
Feeny,” a name which the coming of man’s estate in no 
wise altered. He was a clerk in one of the village stores, 
and the self-constituted representative of the Catholics 
in all affairs appertaining to the church. He “served 
mass ” whenever the service was rendered in Plainfield, 
looked after the hall and rendered the priest any needed 
assistance, all without commission or consideration. 

“ Is this th’ new priest’s horse ?” inquired one. 

“ No, it’s a livery,” answered Johnny, and then he 
asked: “Will some of you bring out the hand-bag and 
lock the door as you come along ?” 

Two or three started to comply, but gave up to the one 
who stood advantageously nearest the door. 

A “livery team” seemed commonplace enough to the 
people who were accustomed to Father McNally’s spank- 
ing pair of beautifully dappled dark bays and his elegant 
harnesses and carriage. The impression was not helpful 
to the “new priest,” for these farmers liked to look at 
good horses and fine turnouts, and that of Father Mc- 
Nally’s, one of the best in the county, had been so long 
an appurtenance of their priest, that they had come to 


KATHERINE BARRY. 59 

regard such equipment as essential to his becoming ap- 
pearance. 

“Where did the new priest come from, d’ye know ?” 
Johnny was asked. 

“ I guess he’s straight from th’ ‘ ould dart,’ ” answered 
Johnny, who considered himself very much of a Yankee. 
“He’s down at the tavern eating his breakfast in his 
room, instead of going into the dining-room,” he added, 
with a fun-making twinkle in his eyes. 

“ I wonder what part o’ Ireland he’s from,” queried 
one, “he looks like a Connacht man.” 

“ Indeed, I guess he is, he looks like it,” returned an- 
other, “indeed he does.” 

At this, the few who had lingered within the entry, 
seeing the door about to close, came out, and among 
them Kate and her mother. As they emerged from the 
doorway, a young man who had'been standing at one side, 
watching the entrance as with some purpose, walked over 
to them. Kate saw him coming, but by diverting her 
attention to raising her parasol, she made pretense that 
she did not, so that as he came up to them, he was first 
noticed by Mrs. Barry, sapng: “ Musha, how d’ye do, 
Frank, I’m glad to see ye.” 

“Very well, Mrs. Barry,” he answered, “how do you 
do ?” 

At the sound of his voice Kate turned toward him and 
said, as she swung her parasol over her other shoulder: 
“ How do you do, Frank ?” 

“ How do you do, Kate,” said he in turn, and then con- 
tinuing addressing both: “Rather sudden change here 
this morning.” 

“Indeed it is,” said Mrs. Barry, “a sudden change, 
sure enough; th’ sorra one o’ me but feels that bad that 
I could sit down this minuit an’ cry me fill.” 


6o 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


“ Oh, well,” said the young man in a sort of comfort- 
ing way, ‘ ‘ this new man looks like a good priest, and I 
believe it’s all for the best. We all know there is work 
to be done here that Father McNally neglected, and if 
this man takes hold, as I think he will, we’ll all be glad 
of it. I am sorry to see Father McNally go, but then, 
we couldn’t have him always.” 

“I’m glad to hear you say that,” said Kate, “for I 
always liked and admired Father McNally, and I feel now 
as if I might say, it will be a long time before we see 
his equal here.” 

“ Katherine always thought a grate dale o’ Father 
McNally,” put in Mrs. Barry, “an’ she always shticks 
up for her frin’s.” 

“ That’s right,” said the young man, “that’s the kind 
of friendship worth the name.” Then bolting to the sub- 
ject evidently uppermost in his mind, he said : “I suppose 
you are all going to the Farmer’s Picnic next week ?” 

Kate made no reply, but looked interestedly toward the 
street, to give her mother the occasion. “We’ve been 
talkin’ about it,” said Mrs. Barry, “an’ of coorse we’ll 
go, fer sure, won’t everybody be there ?” Kate still find- 
ing interest in the vehicles drawing up in front, and the 
young man having failed to attract her attention by his 
remark, there was an awkward pause for a moment. Mrs. 
Barry gave the edges of her light shawl a little pull into 
position, and said: “Well, father’s waitin’ — good-bye, 
Frank, I suppose we’ll see ye at the picnic,” as she turned 
to go. 

“ Good-bye,” he answered, and as Kate was already 
in advance of her mother, he added: “can I see you a 
moment, Kate ?” Mrs. Barry continued toward their 
carriage, for she surmised what the young man had to 
say, and would give him all opportunity. Kate turned 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


6l 


back a step, and the young man, with slight embarrass- 
ment, said: “ Td like to take yon to the picnic, if yon 
have no other engagement.” 

“Why, no,” replied Kate somewhat indifferently, “I 
don’t know as I have, I hadn’t thonght mnch abont going, 
anyway.” 

“ Well,” he persisted, “ shall I connt on yonr going ?” 

“ Yes, I’ll be ready,” said Kate as she glanced toward 
her mother sitting in the carriage, “good-bye.” 

“ Good-bye,” he retnrned, bnt she waited not to hear 
it, and was halfway to the carriage before he had nt- 
tered it. 


CHAPTER VIL 


Frank Dnnn was a young farmer, well-to-do, and of 
excellent repute. He lived two miles southwest from 
Plainfield, with his mother and an unmarried sister, upon 
a large farm which had been left to him and his sister 
upon the death of his father some eight years before. 
He was about twenty-seven years of age, of medium stat- 
ure, rather slender, but well proportioned. His features 
were regular, his eyes blue, his forehead broad and high, 
his nose straight and rather thin, his mouth small and 
his chin slightly receding. He wore no beard, and his 
ruddy complexion in some degree modified the freckles 
which on a paler face would be very much in evidence. 
His hair, which he always kept pretty well cropped, was 
red, a sort of chestnut -red, not so obtrusive as the car- 
rot-red variety. He was quiet and retiring in disposition, 
but, under provocation, disposed to show temper. He 
was, perhaps, more than ordinarily intelligent, but had 
only such education as he obtained at the district school, 
with two winters at the academy in Plainfield. 

He had long been a suitor of Kate’s in a timid sort of 
a way, driving over to the Barry farm once in a while, 
taking her to some entertainment occasionally, and always 
managing in some way to speak to her at church. He 
was, nevertheless, very much in love, and Kate, if present 
in person, could not fill his thoughts and inspire his con- 
duct more than she did as he turned the furrows in his 
quiet fields. His suit was favored by Kate’s parents be- 
cause he was not only a thrifty well-to-do young farmer 
[62] 


KATHERINE BARRY. 63 

btit also of Irish stock and, like themselves, a good Cath- 
olic 

Kate, however, received him rather indifferently, not 
because she disliked him, but because John Harmon held 
first place in her mind. Nevertheless, she found some- 
thing very congenial in Frank Dunn, in his manner, his 
language, in the tone of his voice and common interest 
in the topics that most interested him. In her heart, if 
she looked carefully, she would find that she liked him 
even to the degree of feeling some love for him, but she 
had never sought to know, nor would she permit herself 
to consider what place exactly he held in her estimation. 
Of the attitude of her mind toward John Harmon, how- 
ever, she was very certain. Although unassured by any 
word or act of his that he entertained more than friend- 
ship for her, she admired his intellectual acquirements, 
she felt complimented by his attention, she was proud of 
his company, and always pleased to give him preference. 
It was for such reason, therefore, that she shrank from 
Frank Dunn at the church door on the Sunday re- 
ferred to, for she immediately surmised the proposition 
he was about to make. She knew that the Farmer’s 
Picnic was to be held in the ensuing week, and feeling 
very sure that John Harmon would propose to accompany 
her there, she had hoped that his invitation would be 
offered before Frank made his. However, Frank hav- 
ing proposed first, and quite in the presence of her 
mother, there was nothing to do, despite the disappoint- 
ment in her heart, but to accept. 

“ Fwhat did Frank want ?” asked Mrs. Barry, as Kate 
seated herself beside her mother and the homeward trip 
began. 

“ Why, he asked me to go to the picnic with him,” 
answered Kate, rubbing her chin with her handkerchief. 


64 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


“ Waal, av coorse ye said ye’d go ?” queried her mother, 
turning to Kate in anticipation of her answer. 

“Yes, I told him I’d go,” said Kate, tr3dng to look un- 
concerned. 

* ‘ I knew he was goin’ to ax ye, an’ I didn’t want ye 
to say ye wouldn’t go,” said Mrs. Barry. Then, after a 
few minutes silence, she continued : ‘ ‘ They r ’ll be a 

grate gatherin’ theyre, an’ I want ye to put the lace on 
yer white swiss this week so’s to have it all ready.” 

Kate, not making any reply, after a long pause her 
mother asked: “ Fwhat’re ye thinkin’ about ?”. 

“Oh,” said Kate, looking away into the fields, “ I’m 
thinkin’ of Father McNally.” Having thus introduced, 
all unintentionally, the event of the day, every other in- 
terest was excluded, at least from her mother’s mind, and 
the departure of their old priest and the coming of the 
new one occupied their conversation during the drive 
home. 

That evening, after supper, Kate took' her “ Imitation 
of Christ,” which she always turned to for solace she 
could not ask of her mother, and, passing through the 
front door, seated herself on one of the side seats there 
outside. The old people, in their accustomed places be- 
hind the Virginia creeper, talked with unflagging interest 
ofqhe topic of the day, taking no note of Kate’s absence 
after her mother had observed her seated with her book 
at the front door, before joining Mr. Barry on the side 
porch. 

Through a gap in the old orchard made by the loss of 
a tree from the second row, Kate could scan the road, 
from where she was sitting, for quite a quarter of a mile. 
As often as she looked up from her book, her eyes turned 
expectantly down this little vista, for this was the direc- 
tion whence Mr. Harmon came, and this was the hour of 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


65 


his usual coming. But the time went by, the shadows 
gathering in the orchard at length shut out her view, and 
with closed book upon her knee she sat listening to the 
crickets chirping loud in the grass, and watching the stars 
coming as if through the zenith, and scattering slowly 
down over all the sky to the horizon. When at length 
the sound of the clock striking nine reached her, she 
arose and, entering the hall, closed the front door, and 
going through to the side porch, joined her parents, still 
sitting there. 

Two days later, when Andy returned from an errand 
to Plainfield, he brought in the mail a note to Kate, from 
John Harmon, in which he expressed regret over his in- 
ability to see her Sunday evening, explaining that the 
unexpected arrival of friends from out-of-town detained 
him, and adding that he hoped to see her the following 
Sunday, if not sooner. In the mail was a letter also, 
bearing the familiar handwriting of her brother James, 
in the West, addressed to her father. 

“ Mother,” she called out to Mrs. Barry, in the milk- 
room: “ Here’s a letter from James !” 

Mrs. Barry, holding the skimmer in her hand, came out 
to where Kate stood near the kitchen door, as she said: 
“ I wondher if anythin’s happined — fwhy, it’s only lasht 
week we got a letther fram ’m before.” 

“ I’m going to open it,” said Kate, with anxiety in her 
tone. 

“ Do, open it acushla till we see fwhat it sez.” 

Kate tore the envelope open, and as she read aloud 
that little Katie, her brother’s child named after his sis- 
ter, was very ill of scarlet fever, that the doctor gave no 
assurance, and that the child called almost continuously 
for “auntie Kate,” Mrs. Barry sank into a chair, and 
r^till holding the skimmer in her right hand, covered her 


66 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


face with her apron in her left, and wept and blew her 
nose alternately. When Kate had finished, tears were in 
her eyes, and .stepping to the door she looked over toward 
the stables in the hope that she might see her father. 

This son James, with his wife and child, had made a 
two- weeks’ visit to the old homestead the previous autumn, 
at which time little Katie established herself deeply and 
dearly in the admiration and affection of her aunt and 
her grandparents, as such little tots usually do under 
such circumstances. Therefore, that she was ill and pos- 
sibly in danger, filled the household with grief and anx- 
iety. 

When Mr. Barry came in and the letter was shown him, 
he suggested, as soon as he had finished reading it, that 
Kate should go to the sick child. 

“ I think you’d betther go, Katherine,” he said, “ fer 
don’t ye see theyre,” holding the letter out to her, “ how 
the little darlin’ in her fever’s callin’ fer ye ? If anythin’d 
happen, we’d never forgive oursel’s.” With this he wiped 
his eyes with his red bandanna, and walking over to a cal- 
endar on the wall, studied it a moment, and then seating 
himself, he continued: “ye see, this letther is .dated th’ 
14th, an’ to-day is th’ 17th. If ye could git ready so’s to 
lave here this evenin’, ye’d be theyre Sunday, an’ it’ll do 
ye good yersel’ to get a change afther yer long siege at 
th’ siminary.” 

It was so decided upon, and Kate, assisted by both 
father and mother, prepared for the journey. Andy was 
sent to bring her trunk down again from the. garret, and 
then hurried out to the stable to oil the buggy and have 
everything ready to take Kate and her trunk to High Falls 
in time for the night train West. At dinner-time the trunk 
was packed and strapped, and Kate quite ready for the 
journey. Little was taken at the meal, though each tried to 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


67 


encourage, by example, the other. Kate sipped lightly 
at her tea, and at the urgent and repeated solicitation of 
her mother, tried to partake of the prized dainties that 
were opened for her. It was, however, a tasteless task, 
and after the perfunctory meal was over, Mrs. Barry 
said : “ Now Katherine dear, as soon as iver ye get theyre, 
sind us word how ye find her, fer we’ll be onaisy enough 
till we hear from ye.” 

“Yes,” added her father, “as soon as ye get theyre 
sind us a telegraf, an’ I’ll have Andy over at Plainfield 
to get it Sathurday night.” 

“Oh, yes,” replied Kate, “I’ll telegraph you just as 
soon as I learn how she is, and then Sunday I’ll write 
you a good long letter.” 

“ Do, acushla,” said her mother, and clasping her 
hands, and raising her eyes to heaven, she continued: 
“ An’ may the good God grant ye’ll have good news t’ 
sind us.” 

With much weeping by all three, Kate kissed and em- 
braced her father and then her mother as she bade them 
good-bye, and entering the buggy with Andy, she set out 
upon her long journey, looking back as they turned into 
the road and waving her tear- wet handkerchief to her 
parents, looking after her from the porch through tear- 
dimmed eyes. 

The three days following Kate’s departure were long 
and cheerless ones in the Barry household. Pier absence 
for a single day had always been sufficient to let gloom 
into the house. To make matters worse now, the weather 
had become cloudy, and for two days a drizzling rain had 
set in. This, however, kept the old man indoors, and at 
least gave to each one the company, however cheerless, 
of the other. 

At length, however, Saturday evening came, and long 


68 


KATHERINE BARRY 


“before the appointed time, found Andy tyin^ Pete at the 
hitching-post in front of the telegraph and postoffice, as 
both occupied the same room at Plainfield. Going in- 
side, he was told that the telegram had not arrived yet, 
and, backing up against the wall in front of the letter- 
boxes, with his hands behind him, he stood watching the 
people passing in and out, and listening to the clicking 
of the telegraph instrument beyond the partition, and 
wondering each few minutes if what he was hearing then 
was the coming message. As he stood there, nodding 
occasionally to those he knew among the people passing 
in and out, John Harmon entered with letters to mail, 
and, seeing Andy, he said: “Hello Andy, how’s every- 
body over at the farm ?” 

“ Oh, pretty well,” answered Andy, “ ’cept Kate’s gone 
away.” 

“What’s that?” asked Mr. Harmon, turning from the 
letter-box with sharp interest, and stepping over in front 
of Andy, he continued: “ Gone away, did you say ?” 

Andy nodded. 

“ Where’s she gone ?” he asked. 

“ She’s gone to her brother James’s,” returned Andy, 
“little Katie’s very sick.” 

Without a word Mr. Harmon turned his side toward 
Andy, and thrusting his hands into his pockets, stood 
for a minute looking toward the floor. Then he asked, 
without changing his position or the direction of his eyes : 
“ When is she coming back ?” 

“ I dunno,” answered Andy, “ I didn’t hear thim say.” 

After another pause Mr. Harmon raised his eyes to the 
door, and without a parting word to Andy, walked slowly 
out. 

Shifting his weight occasionally from one foot to the 
other, Andy stood there patiently through three long 
hours and ;yet no telegram came. At length, a- clerk camQ 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


69 


out and stepping up on a chair, proceeded to blow out the 
lamps and to make ready for closing. Did the office re- 
main open, Andy would have stood at his post till morn^ 
ing, for, having been sent for the telegram, he believed it 
must come, sooner or later, and he shrunk from return- 
ing to the old people without it. However, after making 
one more inquiry through the delivery window, he walked 
dejectedly out, and was greeted by a little whinny from 
Pete, who was restlessly stamping back and forth the 
slack of his halter. Going over to him, Andy patted him 
on the neck, and slowly unfastening the halter, was draw- 
ing his saddle-girth a hole tighter, when the clerk shouted 
from the office window : “ Say, you fellow ! wait a minute, 
tha.t message is on the wire now!” Andy retied Pete 
and was at the window in a jiffy. In a few minutes the 
message was received, placed in an envelope and handed 
out to Andy who, quickly mounting Pete, gave him so 
free bridle with his nose pointing homeward, that he sped 
along the road like a racer. 

Upon reaching the house he found the old people on 
the porch anxiously awaiting him, and as he drew up 
Mr. Barry said: “Well, Andy, I declare to goodness, I 
thought ye’d never come.” 

“ Have^ ye th’ tilegraf ?” inquired Mrs. Barry, before 
he could utter a word. 

“ Yis, theyre ’tis,” he said, reaching over from his sad- 
dle and handing the envelope to Mr. Barry. 

The old man turned quickly into the sitting-room, fol- 
lowed by his wife, and opening the envelope under the 
lamp read aloud : “ Katie very ill but no worse. Pleased 
to see me.” Andy restrained Pete long enough to over- 
hear this, and then went on with him to the stable. 

“ Thank God,” said Mrs. Barry, “it’s good that she’s 


no worse. 


70 


KATHERINE BARRV. 


“So it is,” said the old man, refolding the telegram 
and replacing it in the envelope. “ In th’ letther well 
get all th’ perticnlars.” 

The next morning, the old people feeling more assured, 
had some thought for other things, and at breakfast, Mr. 
Barry, taking his second cup of coffee, said: “Mother, 
what do you think about goin’ to th’ picnic ?” 

“ Oh, I think we hadn’t betther go,” answered Mrs. 
Barry. 

“ So 'do I,” said the old man, “ I guess we’ll sthay at 
home this year. But,” he continued after a moment’s 
pause, “ don’t you think we ought to sind word to Frank ?” 

“No,” she replied. “ Katherine wrote ’im a note be- 
fore she wint, an’ I sint it over to the postoffice lasht 
night with Andy.” 

“ I’m glad she did,” said the old man, “ that’s th’ girl 
that never forgets nothin’.” 

On the following Wednesday the old people learned 
upon receipt of the promised letter, that little Katie was 
still very ill, and that no encouraging change had taken 
place. The morning following Kate’s arrival, she had 
appeared better, but in the afternoon, at the hour Kate 
was writing, her temperature was more than a degree 
above what it had been on previous afternoons, and as 
she slept she mumbled and moaned and tossed her arms 
about uneasily. The doctor said there were indications 
of delirium and, although anxious, he thought there was 
yet no occasion for alarm. In concluding her letter, Kate 
assured her parents that she would write them every day 
while little Katie’s condition was so bad, or until she was 
considered out of danger. This statement was the only 
one in the letter which gave the old people any relief in 
their solicitude, and for which they both invoked bless- 
ings upon their dutiful daughter. 


CHAPTER IX. 


The following Saturday afternoon Frank Dunn and his 
hired man were in a “ back lot ” of his farm cutting corn. 
About five o’clock, repeated long blasts on the dinner- 
horn caused them both to stop work and look inquiringly 
toward the house. 

“ Wonder what’s the matter,” said Frank. 

“ I can’t think,” said David, his helper. “ Ever3dhing 
was all right when I was over after the water half an 
hour ago.” 

“ Well,” said Frank, after another long gaze toward 
the house, “ I guess I’d better go over, an’ you can finish 
out these two rows an’ then drive the cows home as you 
come along.” So saying, he pulled a bunch of grass, and 
wiping with it the blade of his corn knife, started off across 
the field. 

When he arrived in sight of the house he saw a horse 
and carriage in the yard and, as he drew nearer, not being 
able to recognize the turnout, his wonder grew, for he 
could not imagine who the stranger might be, nor what 
his errand. As he entered the yard, a wide inclosure 
extending from the house to the barns, he saw his sister 
Mary coming toward him from the kitchen door. When 
within speaking distance, Mary, shading her face with 
her hand, said: “ Guess who’s here ?” 

“Who ?” inquired Frank. 

“ Father Logan,” answered Mary, “he’s in th’ sittin’- 
room talkin’ with mother.” 

“ Is that so ?” said Frank, stopping abruptly and turn- 

[71] 


72 


KATHERINE BARKY. 


ingtolook at the horse and carriage standing at the 
“ wagon-block.” “ Any body with him ?” he asked. 

“No,” answered his sister, “he came alone, just be- 
fore I blew for you.” 

“Well,” said Frank, turning toward the house, “I 
guess I’d better go in and welcome him.” 

Upon entering the sitting-room, he found the priest 
comfortably seated in a large armchair, and as they shook 
hands Frank said: “I’m glad to see you here. Father 
Logan.” 

“ Thank you,'* returned the priest, “ I’m glad to get 
here, for it’s a long ride from High Falls, an’ I’m not used 
to dhriving.” 

“ If you will excuse me, I think I’d better go an’ put 
your horse out, because the man won’t be here for an 
hour yet,” said Frank. 

“ Ah,” returned the ipriest, glancing toward the house 
through the window, “ let him shtand theyre till th’ man 
comes — don’t mind him, Misther Dunn.” 

As Frank seated himself and the priest turned the con^ 
versation toward him, Mrs. Dunn arose and went into 
the kitchen, where Mary was preparing supper. 

“I’ve been tould,” said the priest, “that the former 
incumbint here used to shtop with a family by th’ name 
of Barry, but I undhershtand they have a young lady or 
a dhaughter theyre, quite a Y ankee, an’ a graduate ov a 
Protestant siminary, an’ I didn’t care to go among them.” 

Frank flushed a little redder as the priest said this, and 
felt for the moment some embarrassment, but recovering 
himself quickly, he said: “Well, you will always be wel- 
come here. Father Logan, and I hope you will come as 
often as you can and make yourself at home.” 

“ I came up to-day,” the priest continued, without 
apparently noticing what Frank said, “ because to-morra’ll 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


73 


be airly mass here, an’ I wanted to learn something about 
the people. If the congregation here is like what I saw 
whin I was here before, two weeks ago, it seems to me 
they ought to have a church o’ their own, an’ not be goin’ 
to mass in an ould rookery like that.” 

This was what Frank was pleased to hear, and what 
he knew the people all would rejoice to know. With 
pleased interest beaming from his face, he replied: 
“Why, that hall won’t begin to hold our people if they 
all went to church, and as to means, there’s money enough 
and willingness enough to begin building a church to- 
morrow. We’ve been talking of it for the last four or 
five years, but nothing’s been done.” 

“ Well,” said the priest, as he crossed his legs, “ we’ll 
see what can be done now with th’ help o’ God. But if 
the congregation is as large as you say ’tis, an’ is able to 
support a priest, I think it would be betther to divide the 
chaarge.” 

This suggestion was almost startling to Frank, for no 
one in Plainfield had ever dreamed of the luxury of a 
resident priest in addition to a church structure of their 
own. But this priest, with all his assumed zeal and piety, 
was very self-indulgent and as cunning as he was lazy. 
He did not like the long rides in prospect from High Falls 
to Plainfield, with all the attendant calls, work, etc., of both 
parishes, and if a division could be brought about, he was 
already figuring in his mind how to induce the bishop to 
permit him to remove to Plainfield which, while not call- 
ing for so much parish work, would yet afford him oppor- 
tunity to gain the approbation of his bishop, by erecting 
a new church. 

“ I never thought of that,” said Frank, after a moment’s 
silence, in reply to what the priest said of division, “ and 
I never h^ard any one speak about it, but I believe it 


74 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


would be a good thing because there’s a lot of work to 
be done here which could be done best by a man on the 
spot.” Mrs. Dunn here came into the room and said sup- 
per was ready. 

During the meal the conversation touched not on church 
matters at all, but was directed by the priest, in the main, 
toward Mary, in a clumsy effort to be facetious. 

“ Mary, why don’t you get married ?” he asked, peep- 
ing at her through half- opened eyelids. 

Mary was not fair to look upon : she was freckle-faced, 
red-haired, and her upper front teeth were irregular and 
unduly prominent. Withal, she was thirty-five at her 
la^t birthday, and had never had a beau. 

“Oh,” replied Mary pleasantly, “because the right 
man hasn’t come along yet.” 

Oh, well, ha, ha, ha!” he laughed, “look out Mary, 
or he may go by an’ you not catch him!” and then he 
laughed again and slapped the edge of the table as he 
looked around to see if the others could appreciate the fun. 

After supper Frank and Mary went to help at milking, 
and the priest went into the front yard and walked up and 
down the path as he read his breviary. 

The next morning he did not arise until “chores” 
were done and breakfast over. When he came down- 
stairs, his jocular mood of the evening before had disap- 
peared. He was reserved and frigid. The morning 
being well advanced, and the Dunn family quite ready 
for church, he called for his horse and, followed by the 
Dunns in their carriage, drove away to Plainfield. 

Father Logan was not a preacher in the sense of being 
a ready speaker, he had neither the spirit nor the faculty ; 
but he had been very slow to learn that, or at least, to 
admit it. In his own conceit, however, he was a great 
talker, and, according to his own notion, he talked best 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


75 


when he had a grievance and wanted to give the people 
a “tonchin’ up.” Then, with vehemence for emphasivS, 
passion for inspiration and clumsy fling for gesture, he 
at times became hysterically furious. When, therefore,near 
the close of mass that day he turned about to address the 
people, their expectancy of a sermon was doomed to meet 
with disappointment, for already, and thus early in his 
appearance before the people, the priest had a grievance. 
On the occasion of his preceding visit to Plainfield, he 
had overheard at the tavern the word “greenhorn” in 
the hall below, and at once accepted it as referring to 
himself. Although a greenhorn in fact, as the term is 
generally understood, he was very sensitive to its appli- 
cation, and, although he had no assurance that the term 
overheard was used with any allusion to him, nor that 
it was uttered even by one of his parishioners, so strong 
was the spirit of resentment in him that for two weeks 
he had nursed the determination to give the congregation 
such a “goin’ over” that no one hearing it would ever 
again venture to use the epithet knowingly in his hearing, 
at all events. 

“ I want ye to be good people,” he said, “an’ I’ll be 
a good priest. I know what me dhuties are, an’ I know 
what to expect o’ you !” this last with strong vehemence. 
“ Don’t take me for a greenhorn, or ye may find yersel’s 
very much mistaken !” this with increased vehemence and 
an angry look. “ I intind to see, while I’m here, that ye 
respect yer priest,” this evidently with allusion to some- 
thing he had heard with reference to Father McNally, 
“an’ if I find any o’ ye talkin’ behind me back or dis- 
respectful to me as a priest, as sure as there’s virtue in 
me ordination. I’ll make an example ov him !” this at the 
top of his voice and with a face black with rage. For 
(^uite a minute then, he stood there giving first the right 


76 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


sleeve of his surplice an upward tuck, and then the left 
one, while he scowled over the congregation with lips 
compressed, and breathing coarsely through his dilated 
nostrils. 

The congregation was shocked and pained as well, be- 
cause a number of the Protestant people of the village 
were present at the service to see the “new minister.” 
It was bad enough to be subjected to such an uncouth and 
rude manifestation of coarseness, but to have it displayed 
before their well-bred neighbors, cut the sensitive feel- 
ings of most of them to the quick. Finally, mopping his 
face with his handkerchief, he gave out the announce- 
ments, among others, that on next “ church Sunday ” he 
would talk with some of them after mass to see what 
could be done toward securing a lot and erecting a struc- 
ture “ fit for a priest to say mass in.” 


CHAPTER X. 


The old Barry couple received daily letters from Kate, 
keeping them informed of the varying stages of the child’s 
illness till the crisis was passed, and indications of re- 
covery were sufficient to relieve anxiety. In a letter 
written a few weeks later, when little Katie was so re- 
covered as to be able to sit up in a chair a good part of 
each day, Kate stated that she had been solicited by all 
the household, and by none more entreatingly than by 
little Katie, to extend her stay with them through the 
winter. “ But,” she wrote, “ I can not think of being 
absent from you, my dear father and mother, for so long 
a time, and then, too, there is my scholarship which, un- 
less it could be arranged, I should have to sacrifice.” 

“ What d’ye think we’d betther tell her to do ?” asked 
Mr. Barry, as he refolded the letter. 

“ Oh, as she sez hersel’, if it wasn’t fer th’ chance she 
has ta go ta that music school, I’d say fer her ta shtay,’’ 
answered Mrs. Barry, changing her needle and making 
a long pull at her yarn. 

The old man was silent for a few minutes, and then 
said: “When I go over to Plainfield to-morra. I’ll see 
Misther Harmon — he had somethin’, ta do about her gettin’ 
it, I believe, an’ I wouldn’t wondher if he could fix it,” 

“ Theyre wouldn’t be no harm in thryin’,” said Mrs. 
Barry, “ may be it could be done so she could go in th’ 
spring just as well.” 

But the next day it rained all day, and the old man had 
to forego his proposed trip to town. It was a raw, chill- 
ing storm from the East, with strong gusts of wind that 

177 ] 


78 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


sent the treetops careening over and filled the air with 
leaves yet green, and broken bits of bongh. Over in the 
pasture, the cows stood all day huddled together in the 
lee of a fence with their backs to the storm, and the sheep, 
massed in a fence corner near by, crowded and pushed 
one another for greater protection. It was one of those 
days in early autumn when the lighting of new fires in- 
doors makes the house again comfortable and attractive. 
Over in her corner near the window Mrs. Barry sat knit- 
ting, looking up now and then when the blasts of wind 
threw the lilac bushes against the streaming window 
panes, and rattled the shutters as if to tear them from 
their fastening. Mr. Barry, in the opposite corner be- 
yond the table, was reading the latest copy of the Farmer, 
and out in the kitchen, Andy and Betty were playing 
checkers. 

“Why, here’s somethin’ I didn’t see before,” said Mr. 
Barry, and clearing his throat, he read aloud : ‘ Misther 
John Harmon ov this village was admitted on Friday of 
asht week as counselor-at-law. He will open an office 
over Daskem’s harness shop fer th’ practice ov his pro- 
fession.’ ” 

“ Fwhy, I didn’t think he was as near it as that,” said 
Mrs. Barry. 

“ Oh, he’s a shmart young fella,” returned Mr. Barry. 
“ I’ll wager he’ll make a good loiyer.” 

The old woman made no further comment, but seemed 
to knit faster and for some minutes seemed unmindful 
of the storm and of all about her. The old man resum- 
ing his search for other news, they lapsed again into 
silence. Presently Mrs. Barry, changing her needle, 
said, as if speaking the conclusion of her mind after the 
interval of thinking: “ I believe it’s just Us well Katherino 
isn’t here now.” 


KATHERINE BARRY. 79 

“ Why mother ?” asked Mr. Barry, dropping the paper 
across his knee. 

“ Because she had enough to say about ’im as it was, 
an if she wuz here now, she’d be goin’ an ’bout ’im all 
th’ time,” answered Mrs. Barry, 

“ Oh, mother, don’t be foolish, you make altogether 
too much of it,” said Mr. Barry, taking up his paper again, 
“ I don’t believe the5U*e’s a thing more than frindship 
between thim.” 

“ I don’t know wheyre yer eyes ’ve been,” said Mrs. 
Barry, dropping her knitting into her lap and leaning 
back in her chair as she looked over at her husband, “ I 
don’t see how ye could help seein’, an’ fer that matther 
bearin’ too.” 

Perceiving his wife looking at him as if for some admis- 
sion, the old man tossed the paper upon the table as he 
said: “ ’Pon me word, I never thought o’ such a thing.” 

“ Well, ye might think ov it,” returned Mrs. Barry, 
resuming her knitting, “fer I could see it as plain as I 
can see what I’m doin’.” 

“ Oh, well,” said Mr. Barry, “ Harmon is a likely kind 
of a fella.” 

At this, the old woman again dropped her knitting, 
and leaning forward in her chair, said: “Why, John 
Barry ! fwhat’re ye thinkin’ about ! D’ye think I’d ever 
let a child o’ mine marry a Protestan’?” 

The old man made no reply, but gazed at the storm 
through the window. 

Picking up her work again, she added: “Well, may 
God forgive ye!” Then, after a few minutes’ silence, 
she said, shaking her head, and without looking up from 
her work : “I’d rather see her in her coffin !” 

“ Well,” said Mr. Barry, leaving his chair and walking 
across the room and back again: “ I think we’d betther 


8o 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


tell her to shtay where she is, an’ whin she comes home 
in th’ spring she’ll have somethin’ else in her mind, fer 
Katherine’s a sinsible girl. I’m glad to say.” 

“ Ah, yis,” returned Mrs Barry, “ she’s sinsible enough, 
but love makes fools o’ th’ besht o’ thim.” 


CHAPTER XL 


A few days later, Mrs. Barry suggested that Mr. Dab- 
ney, the principal of the seminary, was “th’ man ta see 
about the music school,” and it was decided that when 
they drove to town, as they always did about this time 
of year, to make an exchange of wool for cloth, Mrs. 
Barry would see Mr. Dabney herself about the matter. 
Accordingly, when a few days later they went into the 
village, Mr. Barry drove around by the seminary and 
waited, sitting in the wagon while Mrs. Barry went in to 
see the principal. 

After what seemed a long wait for so small a matter, 
Mrs. Barry reappeared with a pleased and animated ex- 
pression on her face, and as she took her seat beside him 
Mr. Barry asked: “Well, what did he say ?” 

“ Oh, he said she could go any time, whenever she was 
ready,” answered Mrs. Barry, with an air of relief. “ He 
said he would see about it, an’ fer us to tell her not to 
worry ’bout it because he would ’tind to it.” Then turn- 
ing so as to look at Mr. Barry, she asked: “ Did I keep 
ye long waitin’?” 

“ Oh, I didn’t mind it,” answered Mr. Barry. 

“ Well,” she went on with increasing cheerfulness, “ I 
thought he’d keep me all day praisin’ Katherine up to 
me, sayin’ how much they all thought ov her, an’ fwhat 
a good scholar she was. He’s an awful nice man, an’ 
such a gintleman.” 

Soon 'after they had alighted in the business part of 
the street, the old woman met Frank Dunn in front of 
the post office. 


[8i] 


82 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


“ How is Kate ?” he asked. 

“She’s well,” answered Mrs. Barry, “av coorse ye 
know she’s out with her brother James ?” 

“ Oh yes, I know,” answered Frank. “ When do you 
expect her back ?” he inquired. 

“ I don’t believe she’ll come now till out in shpring,” 
answered Mrs. Barry, ‘ ‘ they all want to keep her the)n:e 
fer th’ winther.” 

“ Is that so ?” said Frank with a look of surprise and 
disappointment, “ I should think you’d all find it pretty 
lonesome over there without her.” 

“ Indeed we do, but whin theyre ashkin’ her to shtay, 
we must be satisfied.” 

As they drove home, Mrs. Barry said: “ I don’t believe 
Katherine’s sendin’ any letthers to Frank. I met him 
on th’ sidewalk to-day an’ he ashkt how she was an’ whin 
she’s cornin’ home, an’ I could tell be ’im that he didn’t 
know anythin’ about her.” 

“ Well, if she don’t want to write to him, whe5n'e’s th’ 
harm in her not doin’ it ?” queried Mr. Barry. 

“ I’m not sayin’ there is,” said Mrs. Barry, “ I wuz 
only tollin’ ye what I was thinkin’.” 

The following Saturday Andy returned from the post- 
office with a letter from Kate which relieved the old peo- 
ple of the last traces of anxiety over the outcome of little 
Katie’s illness.. It stated that she had entirely recovered, 
that she was quite herself and in excellent spirits again, 
and on that morning had accompanied Kate, on a long 
drive with great enjoyment. In closing, Kate alluded to 
the approaching Thanksgiving day, and expressed regret 
that this year, for the first time in so many years, her 
parents would sit down to their Thanksgiving dinner 
alone. 

Thanksgiving had always been a great festal in the 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


83 


Barry household in the years when the children were yet 
at home. The turkey and the plum pudding were not 
alone the attractions of the day : there were candied pop- 
corn balls as large as a bowl, taffy candy and butter scotch, 
i all home made, roasted chestnuts and new sweet cider. 
There was holiday attire and frolic and fun, and merry 
hearts, and the sunshine of joy in the faces of all. To 
those days and their happiness Kate referred with fond 
recollection, now that time and distance threw them for 
the first instance in her life into perspective. She would 
eat her dinner that day, she assured them, thankful and 
happy, of course, with her brother and his wife and little 
Katie restored to health, and she entreated her parents 
to promise that they would prepare a good old-time dinner 
at home andwdth Andy and Betty try to forget her absence 
“ this one time,” and to be as happy as they could be. 

With relieved minds now, and much work to do, the 
days went quickly by at the Barry farm. There was 
threshing of peas and husking of corn, and gathering of 
apples and fall plowing outside ; there was making pre- 
serves and pickles and chowchow, there was spinning 
and reeling and coloring wool-yam inside, and the busy 
days slipped by so quickly that before the old people 
realized it, they were within a week of Thanksgiving 
day. For a fortnight or more the weather had been 
perfect, a typical Indian summer. In the still air of the 
clear sunshiny days, the leafless trees seemed to be drows- 
ing away into their long winter sleep, and each starlit 
night covered the fence rails and board walks with a 
hoarfrost that looked in the morning like a light, new- 
fallen snow Such weather continued up to the day be- 
fore Thanksgiving, when indications of a change began 
to shov/ themselves. In the afternoon of that day the 
northern sky assumed a leaden hue which grew gradu- 


84 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


ally darker, and with not a breath of wind, crept slowly 
up to the zenith, and at sunset had spread down over all 
the horizon. 

The next day. Thanksgiving, the sky was clouded 
through all the day from dawn to dark. There was not 
a rift, nor even a thinning out for a moment in the murky 
pall anywhere. The somber air over woods and fields, 
indicated how thick and dense it was, and so evenly and 
uniformly was it spread over the sky, that the closest 
watching failed to distinguish the direction of its move- 
ment. It seemed to touch the hilltops near at hand, and 
overhead to hang so low that there was a sense of near- 
ness in it as one looked upward to the sky. The air was 
cold, quite to the point of freezing, and so still that, to 
ordinary observation, it seemed to be absolutely motion- 
less. It was a dark, gloomy kind of a day in which 
everything animate and inanimate seemed to cower be- 
fore something impending. 

Although effort was made, as far as preparation for 
dinner was concerned, to gladden the day in the Barry 
household, it was somewhat of a failure, for within, 
as without, the gloom pervaded all the more readily 
when hearts were sad and the darkened rooms shadowed 
vacant places. 

At an early hour Andy had apprehended the turkey 
long designated for the occasion, and had’ it in the kitchen 
ready for plucking when Betty came down. He had also 
filled the wood box, piled high, and had a good fire in the 
kitchen and plenty of water drawn, because over and 
above his disposition to add to the cheer of the day for 
the others, Andy liked nothing in this world better than 
a good dinner except, perhaps, whittling fine pine wood 
with a good sharp knife, for he had been known, when 
thus engaged on a rainy day in transforming a pine stick 


KATHERINE BARRY. 85 

into a wooden chain, to forget dinner and to disregard all 
calls thereto even when the fragrance of boiling pork 
and new cabbage reached liim ihrough the cracks in the 
door leading through the woodshed to the kitchen. 

Mr. Barry had, years before, established a custom c f 
going through all his barns, accompanied by his wife, to 
review their contents and his stock on each Thanksgiving 
day, and to note and comment together upon the year’s 
product and increase. He had never failed to do this in 
all the years since his first granary, built of logs, con- 
tained fhe first scant yield from clearings where obsti- 
nate stumps denied the plow the right of way. On this 
day, therefore, and as usual before dinner to which the 
review usually brought them with hearts full of thank- 
fulness-, the old man and his wife walked over to the 
barns and, opening the great driveway doors for better 
light, looked up at the mows and great bays filled to the 
rafters with hay and grain, and talked of the quality of 
the hay and of the weight of the grain as only people 
can who are familiar with the growing and care of such. 
Slowly they went about from barn to barn, and through 
the great granary and the corn-house, and over to the 
hog-house where the immense fat porkers, too indolent 
to stand, were lying on the floor and, without lifting 
their heads, grunted protests against disturbance of their 
fat felicity. Thence, into the yard where the hens and 
turkeys were usually fed and to which they came noisily 
on bei'ng called, running and flying over fences and 
through bordering bushes ; thence into the great barn- 
yard where the cattle and sheep were corralled for in- 
spection. There they viewed admiringly the yearlings 
and two-year-olds and commented on their growth 
and indications promising the good qualities of their dames 
as “pail-fillers”; they eyed with pleasure the smooth 


86 


KATHERINE RARRY* 


coats and capacious udders of the cows, and discussed 
the age and talked of the failing yield of one here and 
there and of how many such were to be disposed of be- 
fore winter ; they counted the lambs till the count agreed 
and considered how many should be added to the flock 
and how many let go to the butcher. Then they strolled 
back to the house and went into the cellar where they 
looked over the great bins of potatoes and apples, and 
the store of beets and turnips and cabbages, and ex- 
amined to see how much was left of last year’s pork and 
corned beef in the barrels there. When they returned 
upstairs dinner was ready and awaiting them some time, 
and Betty ‘‘ ’most out o’ patience tryin’ to keep the things 
from gettin’ cold.” But Mrs. Barry soon restored her 
good nature by telling her, upon going into the kitchen 
and looking at the turkey and tasting the stuffing, that 
she herself could not have done it better. 

As they sat down to dinner with hearts full of thank- 
fulness and appetites sharpened by the stroll about the 
barns in the cold air, they were in excellent condition to 
enjoy the meal and the occasion if memory of former 
years and absent ones could have been suppressed. But, 
alas ! at no time during the day did it assert itself so ob- 
trusively as at the moment of thus sitting down to table. 
Then each, almost overcome, was obliged to remain silent 
for some minutes lest the broken voice betray the emo- 
tions swelling in their hearts. 

After dinner which, after all, turned out to be a very 
enjoyable one once they had begun to taste it, Mr. Barry 
told Andy to hitch up the two-seated family carriage and 
they would all together take a drive to Plainfield and per- 
chance get a letter at the post office. The roads were 
smooth as a floor owing to the freezing nights and long 
continued fair weather, and as they drove along the ex- 


Katherine Barry. 


87 


hilc. ration of their even, rapid passage through the brac- 
ing atmosphere stimulated their faculties and brightened 
their spirits. Upon reaching town, however, they found 
the post office was closed for the holiday, and therefore, 
as a compensating diversion, they drove up the other 
side of the river on the way back, crossing over at the red 
mill bridge and down along the more familiar mill road 
home. 

When Andy came in from the stable that evening he 
said to Betty as he blew out his lantern: “ I think we’re 
near some kind of a shtorm.” Mr. Barry overhearing 
the word “ storm ” from the sitting-room called out: 

“ Did you say it was beginning to sthorm, Andy?” 

“ No,” he replied, “it’s just the same as all day, but I’m 
thinkin’ there’s somethin’ cornin’ for th’ night feels loike 
it.” 

“ I don’t doubt av the wind goes to the south to-night,’’ 
said Mr. Barry, “ you may be sure of a wet day to- 
marra.” 

Next morning, to the great astonishment of them all, 
they saw, as they looked out from their chamber windows, 
that it was snowing and evidently had been since early 
the night before, for the fences were quite half buried in 
it and low shrubs entirely out of sight. The snow had 
fallen so softly in the still air that it lodged on every- 
thing presenting an upper surface, and accumulated in 
piles and ridges on the tiniest foundations. On the cross- 
bars of the window sash it was piled quite half way up 
the panes of glass, and on the branches of a cherry tree 
that came up to the second story windows, it was piled 
along every limb and branch out to their smallest twigs, 
varying in width with the part supporting it, but in every 
place of uniform height, in some proportion on the larger 
limbs, but as thin as a knife blade on the outer twigs. 


88 


KATHERINE BARKY. 


Noiselessly and with not a breath of air to slant the direc* 
tion of the flakes, it fell like sifting sand, and so thickly 
that objects a short distance away v/ere obscured from 
view. The unexpected change of scene outside brougl t to 
those looking at it a sort of shock of sudden transition f :n 
charming fall weather to midwinter, which shock however, 
was modified by the beauty of the changed appearance of 
things. The snowy trimming of trees and vines, and 
shrubs not yet covered altogether, was suggestive of the 
exquisite perfonnance of the confectioner’s art, the boards 
of the fences seemed as if trimmed with ermine and 
every fence post looked like a drum major in a snow- 
white shako. 

Startled by anxious thought for his sheep and his 
stock, Mr. Barry dressed hurriedly and, calling to Andy, 
hastened downstairs where he found that Andy had pre- 
ceeded him. 

“God bless us!” said Mr. Barry as he put on his over- 
coat while Andy was pulling on a pair of rubber boots, 
“ who’d ever thought av shnow as suddin as this?” 

“ I knew we was near somethin’ — don’t ye remember 
I tould ye so lasht night?” returned Andy rather too ex- 
ultantly to please the old man at such a time as this. 

“ Get down th’ shnow shovels from the shtorerocm 
loft,” said Mr. Barry, “an’ let us hurry out, for I’m 
afeard th’ sheep an’ th’ calves is shmothered.” Tins put 
alacrity into Andy’s movements, for he had not thought 
as far as that. 

When the kitchen door was cipened the snow presented 
a wall over two feet in height in the doorway, and Andy, 
going before the old man, and laboring to get his legs 
through the snow, made little way for Mr, Barry follow- 
ing him till they reached the barn, where they found 
it necessary to shovel the snow away before the door 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


89 


could be even partly opened. Going through to the great 
barnyard they were relieved to find that the cattle and 
calves had all peaceably crowded together under the 
shed extending along the whole of one side of the yard, 
and that the sheep, although kept on the outer edge by 
the cattle, were all alive, having secured sufficient shel- 
ter here and there along the front of the shed, and by 
moving back and forth had so trodden down the snow 
along the front that they escaped becoming stuck fast in it. 

After clearing a way for them, the sheep and the calves 
were driven into another yard having a small shed at the 
end of it, and then Andy set about clearing the snow 
from the hennery and hog-house, and from gates and 
doorways. As he was clearing the snow from a door 
opening through the long shed leading to the great 
covered strawstack in the rear, from which bedding was 
obtained for the stables, and preparatory to clearing a 
path out to the strawstack, he was called to breakfast. 

The snow by this time had almost ceased falling, and 
overhead signs of breaking away appeared, patches of 
blue sky could be seen through the rifts and rents in the 
fleecy clouds moving slowly southward. Before break- 
fast was over, the first sunshine in two days, fell slant- 
ing along the dining-room windows and, by reflection 
from the snow outside, filled the house with a strange 
light. As the day advanced, the weather moderated un- 
der a clearing sky, and for about an hour at midday the 
sun melted the snow a little so that in places it began to 
fall from the branches, making ragged gaps in the con- 
tinuity of the aboreal decorations. As the sun went 
lower in the west, it began to freeze, and at sundown the 
air was yet still, but very sharp, and the snow becoming 
stiff and unyielding. 

Upon stabling the cows at “chore time,” it was dis- 


90 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


covered tliat “ old Star-face ” and “White-foot” were 
missing, and a search of the yard and shed failed to locate 
them. As soon as those stabled were cared for, Mr. 
Barry and Andy searched again with a lantern, this time 
looking also for any possible break through which the 
cows might have escaped for this, now, was the only ex- 
planation of their absence. As Mr. Barry was passing 
the door opening through the long shed at which Andy 
was at work in the morning when called to breakfast, he 
noticed footprints showing passage of the cows through, 
and, lifting the large wooden latch, he pushed the door 
open and swinging his lantern low over the ground for 
closer inspection, there very plainly could be seen on the 
smooth surface made by Andy’s shovel, the tracks of the 
missing cows. 

“ Here’s where they got out !” said Mr. Barry. 

“How could that be,” said Andy, coming from the 
far end of the shed, “ when the door was shut ?” 

“Yes, shut now,” returned Mr. Barry, “but anyone 
can see it wasn’t shut whin they wint through.” Exam- 
ining the tracks by the light of his lantern, he went on ; 
“they got out here, one follyin’ th’ other, an’ crowdin’ 
outside before they wint into th’ deep snow, they bumped 
th’ door shut an’ ov coorse it latched itsel’ Theyre ’re 
th’ tracks, one aftherth’ other, goin’ over to th’ shtack — 
go an’ see if they’re theyre.” 

After laboriously making the circuit of the stack, be- 
cause the snow had become so stiff as to make walking 
in it difficult, Andy shouted : “ I kin see be theyre thracks 
they’ve gone out farther.” 

“Well, come,” called Mr. Barry, “we must go an’ git 
th’ snowshoes an’ folly thim.” 

A few minutes later, with snov/shocs on their feet and 
each carrying a lantern, they followed the tracks where 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


91 


the cows had wallowed through the snow in a zigzag 
course, one evidently having floundered in the wake of the 
other. 

“Old Star-face” was always the first to find a rail 
down or a board off the fence along the pasture, and 
when such was not available, she was ever disposed to 
make a breach with her horns, if the field beyond was 
inviting, and to be the first into the forbidden inclosure. 
She was somewhat “ snow-blind,” at least on sunny days 
in winter, and this explained why she had now wandered 
away from the buildings. 

‘ ‘ How quick that thief ov a ‘ Shtar-face ’ was to find 
I didn’t latch the door tight !” said Andy as they glided 
along. 

“ To find ye didn’t latch it at all,” said Mr. Barry, “ an’ 
whin she got out, why th’ nixt one to her foileyed her, 
an’ av they didn’t happen to crowd th’ door shut, they 
might all got out.” 

About fifty yards from the barn the surface sloped down 
rather sharply, a descent of quite sixty feet to a flat field 
below, and down this declivity the tracks led them. Near 
a hundred yards farther on they came upon the cows, 
stuck fast and shivering in the snow. It was plain that 
they had floundered this distance while the snow was yet 
light and soft, but even then, as the tracks showed, they 
had sunk exhausted at intervals until rested, and then 
plunged on again. 

How to get the cows back to the barn was a puzzle 
quite too much for either Mr. Barry or Andy. They 
could not be led nor driven through the unyielding snow; 
it would take half the night to clear a path for them 
and, if left where they were till morning, they would die 
of cold and exposure. 

“ Fwhat in th’ name o’ God ’re we goin’ to do!” ex* 


92 


KA7HEKTNE BARRY. 


claimed Mr. Barry as he walked around the cows, and 
holding up his lantern, looked at them from every side. 

Andy made no reply for a few minutes, and then said: 
“We might bring out some o’ thim auld horse-blankets 
an’ cover thim here fer th’ night.” 

This seemed so inadequate that Mr. Barry said noth- 
ing and seemed to take no notice of it. But after a min-, 
ute he said: “ Fwhat was that ye said, Andy ?” 

“ I said we could cover thim up wheyre they be with 
horse-blankets till momin’,” answered Andy timidly this 
time, for he feared now that his suggestion was not as 
sensible as it had first appeared to him. 

But, as if a new thought had come to his relief, Mr. 
Barry said: “ Go an’ get th’ shnow shovels.” 

When they were brought, Mr. Barry took one, and 
going to one side of “ Star-face,” told Andy to go to 
the other and begin shovelling the snow away from 
around her. When this was done sufficiently, the 
cow struggled to her feet and stood released on the 
ground, from which she nipped hungrily the dead stubble 
as sne whipped her sides with her tail in her enjoyment 
of release from her berth in the snow. Then Mr. Barry 
and Andy set to work to enlarge the cleared space, and 
when done, “ White-foot ” was released in the same way 
and a little path opened through which she was driven 
to the cleared space in which “ Star-face ” stood, a pen- 
like circular inclosure about ten feet in diameter, with 
walls of snow heightened by what was shovelled out from 
the cleared area. 

“Now go, Andy,” said Mr. Barry, “an’ bring th’ 
blankets an’ a good bundle o’ hay on th’ han’ -shied — hurry 
now.” 

When these were brought, the cows were blanketed and 


KATHERINE BARRY. 93 

the hay strewn about the sides, and a bundle of straw 
spread in the middle. 

“ Now Andy,” said Mr. Barry, “ fix th’ han’-shled across 
th’ path here ta keep thim in, an’ I guess they’ll shtay 
they re all right till mornin’.” And, from the eagerness 
with which they snatched at the hay, there was little 
doubt of their doing else than “atin’theyre fill,” as Andy 
said, and lying down in their snow pen till morning 


CHAPTER XIL 


When Andy came downstairs the next morning he was 
surprised to see Mrs. Barry already in the kitchen, and 
a good fire in the stove over which she was preparing 
something in a tin dish, and Betty putting a cup and 
saucer and some toast upon a tray on the kitchen table. 
Andy looked around a moment in wonderment and then 
asked: “ Is Misther Barry up, too ?” 

“No,” answered Mrs. Barry, “he’s not at all well this 
mornin’, an’ he wants you to go down on th’ ‘ flat lot * 
an’ look at th’ cows before ye go to th’ barns.” 

“D’ye think did he ketch cold lasht night?” asked 
Andy. 

“ I think he did,” answered Mrs. Barry, lifting the dish 
from the stove, and as she placed it on the table she went 
on without turning from her work: “ an’ he wants you 
to take thim down some hay as ye go, an’ whin ye come 
back, to tell him how ye find thim.” 

“ All right,” said Andy, “I was thinkin’ o’ that me’sel’,” 
but to what particular he referred he did not state, and 
no one asked him. 

The excitement and exposure of the evening before 
had proved too much for the old man who, after a rest- 
less night, had awakened Mrs. Barry at a very early hour 
in the morning, complaining of pain, as he said, “all 
over.” Mrs. Barry had called Betty to start a tire in the 
kitchen stove, whereupon they set about preparing hot 
dri aks and some nourishment for him. 

When Andy returned from the “ flat lot,” he told Betty 
in the kitchen that the cows were all right, “ ‘ White-foot ’ 

[94] 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


95 


lyin’ down as aisy as anythin’, chewin’ her end, an’ ole 
‘ Shtar-face ’ shtan’in’ np lickin’ th’ shnow.” After charg- 
ing Betty with conveying this to Mr. Barry, he went out 
to the barns to do the morning chores. 

After breakfast Andy asked Mrs. Barry what she 
thought he had better do about the cows. 

“ He’s goin’ to get up in shpite ov us,” she answered, 
“an’ see to gotten’ thim in himsel’, an’ I’m afeared ov 
he does he’ll get his death out ov it. He says fer you to 
go on ahead an’ be shovellin’ th’ path till he comes.” 

Shortly afterwards Mr. Barry, looking haggard about 
the eyes, with a woolen tippet wrapped about over his 
coat collar and his cap pulled down over his ears, fol- 
lowed Andy, shovel in hand, out to the work of getting 
the cows back. The sky had become clear, and the sun, 
as it rose higher, overcame the frost in the air, so that 
about the middle of the forenoon the snow was melting 
from the trees and fences^ and the icicles were dropping 
with jingling crashes from the eaves. About midday, 
the first team passed through the road since the snow fell. 
Four horses, dragging a bob-sled and a caldron kettle 
fastened behind it, went up the road with great difficulty 
and many halts, and presently returned with freer pas- 
sage, and then up again and back again, until the track 
was made fairly passable.' 

At intervals during the morning Mrs. Barry went 
through to the milkroom, from the window of which she 
could get the best view of the barns, and looked anx- 
iously for the return of Mr. Barry. At noon she could 
wait no longer, and dinner being ready, she put on over 
her shoes a pair of moccasins, and with a shawl over her 
head was just leaving the house when she saw Mr. Barry 
and Andy coming from the barn. Standing on the stoop, 


96 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


she waited till they drew near and then said: “I was 
just goin’ to see fwhat was keepin’ ye.” 

“Well, av ye could see th’ length of th’ path we had 
to shovel ye’d know fwhat kept us,” returned Mr. Barry 
as he took off his mittens and struck the snow from his 
legs with them as with a brush, ‘ ‘ whew ! but I’m most 
whipped out !” 

As they entered the kitchen Mrs. Barry asked: “ Have 
ye thim in yit ?” 

“Yes,” answered Mr. Barry, “thank God theyre in 
th’ yard agin, an’ it was a hard job, I kin tell ye.” 

At dinner Mr. Barry took only a cup of coffee and then 
laid down on the lounge in the sitting-room, where Mrs. 
Barry followed and spread a wool blanket over him. As 
the afternoon wore away, he complained of pain in his 
chest, and growing more restless, he wished to get up- 
stairs to bed. Mrs. Barry assisted him in getting off his 
boots, and following him upstair’s she gave him some hot 
drink and, after covering him up well in bed, she came 
down to the kitchen, where Andy was still telling Betty 
some of the overlooked details of how they began clearing 
the path at the near end and worked toward the snow pen 
where the cows were. When they had cleared out to the 
pen, the path was all open, and removing the hand-sled, 
they let “ White-foot ” take the lead because “ Star-face,” 
so snow-blind, would not be likely to follow the path, 
and the cows came back ‘ ‘ as aisy as if they were walkin’ 
along the barn floor.” 

“ Andy,” said she, “ I want ye to get ready an’ go fer 
Doctor Agens — Misther Barry is raal sick, an’ I don’t 
want to let th’ night come on without doin’ somethin^ 
fer him.” 

‘’ D’ye think is he that bad ?” asked Andy. 


KAtHEklNE BARRY. 


^7 

“an’ it’s 


“He’s bad enough,” answered Mrs. Barry, 
worse he’s gettin’ since dinner time.” 

“Well,” said Andy, reaching for his boots which he 
had impaled on sticks for drying behind the stove, “ don’t 
ye think I betther hitch on to th’ cutter so’s I kin bring 
him av his own horse’s used up ?” 

“ I do,” said Mrs. Barry, “an’ th’ roads ’re that bad I 
think ye betther hitch up two o’ th’ horses instead o’ goin’ 
with one.” 

It was about “candle light” when Andy returned, 
followed by Dr. Agens in his own sleigh. As the doctor 
got out with his crutch and cane on the porch, Mrs. Barry 
opened the door for him saying: “ I’m glad to see ye 
docther, fer I was afeared ye wouldn’t be able to come, 
an’ I’m that worried about John.” 

“ Been out shovelling snow, Andy tells me,” said the 
doctor as he thrust his fur cap into one of the pockets of 
his great buffalo-skin coat and proceeded to disengage 
himself from it. 

“ Yis, out lasht night an’ agin to-day whin he wasn’t 
fit,” said Mrs. Barry as she took the doctor’s coat and car- 
rying it to the kitchen door gave it to Betty, telling her 
to hang it on a chair near the stove. 

“ Well,” said the doctor, running his fingers up through 
his hair on both sides, “ let us see the sick man.” 

“ He’s upshtairs,” said Mrs. Barry, and proceeding be- 
fore the doctor, she reached the room in time to tell Mr. 
Barry in advance that the doctor was at hand, as she hur- 
riedly arranged the bedclothes and straightened the pil- 
lows before the doctor, with slower progress, entered the 
room 

“ Well, well,” said the doctor, smiling pleasantly as he 
stood a moment in the doorway, “took advantage of the 


98 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


, first snow storm to get me over here, after all the beauti- 
ful days of summer were allowed to go by vdthout a call.’' 

“ Oh docther,” said Mr. Barry, disengaging his hand 
from the bedclothes and extending it, “ I’d be willin’ to 
let th’ winther go too, fer that matther, but whin we’re 
down we must get help, ye know.” 

“ I’ll pardon you. I’ll pardon you this time,” said the 
doctor, going over to the bedside and shaking the hand 
extended to him, and, holding it while he felt the pulse 
with the finger of his left hand, he went on, after a 
moment’s consideration of it: “but there is no very ur- 
gent necessity, as I see, for sending for me now, unless, 
as I suspect, you got lonesome with Kate away and wanted 
company,” and the doctor chuckled as he looked around 
at Mrs. Barry. 

Mr. Barry made a failing effort to smile at this and said: 
“ We’re lonesome enough, that’s thrue, but lasht night 
I got so hated shovellin’ shnow, an’ thin cooled off out 
theyre before I got in, that I niver shlept a wink all th’ 
night, with pains in every bone in me body.” 

“ I was af eared o’ th’ neumoany, docther,” said Mrs. 
Barry with her hand on the back of a chair she had placed 
for him, but which he did not observe till he turned as 
she spoke, and thereupon seated himself in it. 

“ No, no,” said the doctor with short quick shakes of 
his head, “no pneumonia — only a simple cold which in 
twelve hours will yield to a little care and attention ” 
Then calling for a tumbler, some water and a spoon, 
he prepared the medicine and gave to Mrs. Barry direc- 
tions, and instructions also as to what to do for the 
sick man. This done, the doctor leaned back in his chair 
and asked: “ What do you hear from Kate — does she like 
it out there ?” 

“ Indeed she does,” answered Mrs. Barry, “but shtill 


Katherine barry. 


99 


she likes home the besht ov all from th' letthers she sinds 
us. James’s little girl was taken sick with scharlet fever 
an’ Katherine wint out to thim, an’ I guess she’ll shtay 
all winther.” 

“ I think I heard she went out because some of them 
were sick,” said, the doctor. “ How is the little one com- 
ing on ?” 

“ She’s betther now, but I guess she was raal sick,” 
answered Mrs. Barry. “ D’ye mind whin ye brought 
Kate herseV out o’ th’ scharlet fever ?” she continued. 

“ Yes, I do,” answered the doctor, “and by the way, 
the going then was a good deal as it is now, only that 
the snow drifted worse and kept the roads bad. Let us 
see, that was twelve years ago, if I remember right, and 
in those twelve years what a fine girl Kate has grown 
to be r 

“ An’ a good girl, too,” added Mr. Barry. 

“ Did you know,” said the doctor, turning to Mr. Barry 
as he spoke,, “that District Attorney Galt of High Falls 
is dead ?” 

“No, I didn’t,” said Mr. Barry with interest, “whin 
did that happin ?” 

“ I don’t know what day,” answered the doctor, “ but 
he was buried last week.” 

“ Well, I’m sorry to hear that,” said Mr. Barry, “ Mis- 
Iher Galt was a fine man an’ a great loiyer. I remimber^ 
over in Plainfield, whin he alone bate three loiyers in 
that Rivinton case.” 

“ It is a little premature to speak of it,” said the doctor 
with a sort of sly look, “but I may tell you that John 
Harmon is going to make a bid for appointment to the 
unexpired term of district attorney. Some of us think 
it is about time for that office to come to this part of the 
county.” 


loo 


ICATHERTNE BARRY. 


“ Indeed I hope hell get it,” said Mr. Bany, an’ I 
don’t doubt he will, for he’s a shmart young man an’ has 
lots o’ I’n’s.” 

“ Yes,” said the doctor, with a pleased loot, “ Johnls 
a good fellow, and is pretty certain to make a good record. 
If he gets this appointment,” went on the doctor pleas- 
antly and looking directly at Mrs. Barry, “ I tell him 
the next thing for him to do is to get married.” 

“ Oh yis,” said Mrs. Barry looking at her husband to 
avoid the doctor’s eyes, “ I suppose theyre’s plinty o’ 
girls in Plainfield ready to marry him.” 

Probably, but the one he wants I guess doesn’t live 
in Plainfleld,” said the doctor dryly, as he reached down 
for his “ sticks ” and rose from the chair. 

“ Don’t be in a hurry,” said Mrs. Barry, glad to turn 
to another subject, “ wait an’ I’ll have Betty make ye a 
cup o’ tea.” 

“ Oh, bless you, no,” said the doctor, going half-way to 
.he door and back again, “ I was at supper when Andy 
came, and I’ve got to go now round by the red mill to 
see old Mr. Bently before I get home.” 

“ Is he alive yet ?” asked Mr. Barry. 

“ Yes,” returned the doctor, “but he says he’s ready 
to go now — he’s got religion, you knov/.” 

“ I didn’t know,” said Mr. Barry in some surprise. 

“Yes, Methodist preacher Patton has been over to see 
him, and Bently says now, that he has found Christ and 
is ready to go and rest in Abraham’s bosom.” 

Mrs. Barry clasped her hands together in astonishment, 
and Mr. Barry, nodding his head on the pillow several 
times as he spoke, said: “ Well, Abraham ’d betther keep 
an eye on Misther Bintly ar he’ll execute a chattel mort- 
gage on th’ buzem an’ lave Abraham, as he did a good 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


101 

many others, to rue th’ day he had anythin’ to do with 
Misther Bintly.” 

“ Ah,” said the doctor, tapping the chair with his cane, 
“ I don’t take any stock in this death-bed conversion 
which is supposed to make a man of unprincipled and 
sinful life ready in an hour to enter the company of the 
blest and the fellowship of Christ.” 

“ You’re right, doctor,” said Mr. Barry in approving 
tone, '“theyre’s nayther sinse nor religion in it.” 

“Well, ye know it’s said,” put in Mrs Barry piously, 
“ theyre’s joy among th’ angels o’ heaven whin one sinner 
repints.” 

“ Oh, certainly, or at least there ought to be,” said the 
doctor, “ but repentance is only a hopeful state — nothing 
more. Well,” making a start toward the door, “ if I don’t 
make some hopeful sign of going, I’m afraid you’ll repent 
having called me in.” 

' ‘ Docther, you’ve done me good already, I feel betther 
than I did all day.” 

“ Good-night, Barry !” said the doctor, returning to the 
bedside and shaking his hand, “ you’ll be all right shortly, 
and then don’t forget that, like all of us, you’re getting 
old and greater care is needed to keep well.” 

“ Thrue fer ye, docther,” said Mr. Barry “ good-night.” 

When Mrs. Barry came upstairs after seeing the doctor 
off, she repeated the directions for giving the medicine 
to see whether she had them rightly fixed in her mind, 
and then, seating herself at the bedside, said: “Did ye 
mind fwhat he said about Misther Harmon getting mar- 
ried ?” 

“ I did,” answered Mr. Barry. 

“ Th’ way he looked at me,” she continued, “was 
enough to make me believe he was manin’ Katherine.” 


102 


KATHERINE RARRY 


“ Oh mother,” said Mr. Barry in a tone of v^eariness, 
“ don’t accuse th’ man o’ fwhat he didn’t say.” 

“Well, ye know,” persisted Mrs. Barry, “th’ docther 
an’ Mr. Harmon ’re such fri’n’s that fwhat one o’ thim 
thinks, th’ other says.” 

“ Well, maybe they do,” said Mr. Barry, “ but he nay- 
ther thought nor said anythin’ fer ye to get onaisy about.” 

After a pause, during which she lighted the lamp and 
placed it on a bureau at the other side of the room, she 
said, as she resumed her seat : “ The roads ’re open now, 
don’t ye think we might sind Andy over to Plainfield to- 
morra to see ov theyre’s a letther from Katherine ?” 

“Yes, he’s got to go over in th’ mornin’ afther a couple 
o’ butther-tubs,” answered Mr. Barry, “an’ he can go to 
th’ posht office whin he’s theyre.” 

When Andy returned from town next day just in time 
for dinner, he brought a letter from Kate which 
Mrs. Barry at once took upstairs. The old man was 
already much improved, and, propped up in bed, he 
read aloud the letter in which Kate said that for some rea- 
son she could not understand, she was filled with anxious 
thought for her father, and that the night preceding, she 
had dreamed that she saw him up to his waist in water 
trying to rescue a cow that in some way had gotten into 
the river. 

“Did ye ever hear th’ like o’ that!” exclaimed Mr. 
Barry, dropping the letter upon the bed-clothes and look- 
ing with a pleased countenance at Mrs. Barry. 

“ She was always havin’ curious dhrames,” said Mrs. 
Barry, picking up the letter and replacing it in the envel- 
ope, “ an’ shtrange notions — d’ye mind whin she dhramed 
that Misther Morrell was kilt, an’ no one knew it till they 
found him th’ nexht mornin’ where he was pitched out 
ov his wagon be th’ roadside.” 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


103 

“ I do,” said Mr. Barry, “ God bless her, an’ th’ day 
she got it into her head that theyre was somethin’ wrong 
in th’ shtable beyant, an’ whin I wint out, to find th’ black 
mare casht in her shtall, puffed up as big as a barrel, an’ 
th’ life most gone out av her.” 

“ I often thought theyre was somethin’ curious about 
her,” returned Mrs. Barry, and, after a pause during 
which she studied both sides of the envelope in her hand, 
she continued; “ we must sind her word right back that 
everythin’ is all right, so’s she won’t worry.’ 


CHAPTER XIII 


The great fall of early snow, lessened Occasionally by 
thaws and rains, remained on the ground, attended by 
more or less wintry weather, till about the middle of Jan- 
uary, when a week of continuous mild weather, so mild 
that on several nights there was hardly noticeable frost, 
dissolved the last lingering traces of the great storm. 
For a period then of ^bout four weeks, the weather was 
like a return to autumn — clear, sunny days and starry 
nights over bare brown fields and open streams. The 
wind, for days at a time from the south, was so mild that 
buds began to swell as in spring air, and even when for 
a day or two it turned into the west or northwest, there 
was nothing of winter in it. The farming people, par- 
ticularly, marvelled over the weather and predicted that 
if the open season continued long enough to include 
“ground-hog day,” as they now began to fear it would, 
they were sure to have “another winter” and a late 
spring, or as some expressed it, a winter broken in two 
with the halves displaced into the adjoining seasons. 
Like a guest overstaying his welcome, the fair weather 
so lingered on that the 14th of February came in under 
the same continuous clear sky, to the disappointment of 
those who, watching the signs, thought they had per- 
ceived indications of a change which would bring abotit, 
before that date, the hoped-for cloudy weather. And, 
as if to sustain the importance of the observation made 
on “ ground-hog day,” within the week following, winter 
bowled in again from the north with snows and cold and 
darkened skies, and “ old-fashioned weather ” prevailed 
[104J 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


105 


without a break till quite up to the first of April, When, 
however, winter did begin to yield, there was short time 
in its going. In one week from the disappearance of the 
last blizzard, bluebirds were flitting over the snow- 
banks, narrowing rapidly along the fences under the 
aggressive sun, and robins were carolling in the treetops. 
So speedily thereafter did spring advance, that farm work 
was undertaken, after all, about the usual time. 

At the conference which Father Logan held in the fall 
with representative members of the church at Plainfield 
to consider the erection of a church building, it was 
planned to take such preliminary steps during the winter 
as would bring them into position to begin active work 
upon the structure in the ensuing spring. Johnny Feeny 
and Frank Dunn were informally designated to see what 
could be done in the matter of securing a building lot, 
and to solicit donations of money or building material, 
not only from their own people but also from the busi- 
ness men and people of means in the village without re- 
gard to church relationship. They set about the* business 
with great diligence, giving, however, only one day in 
each week specially to it, although at all times they availed 
of passing opportunity. The response of the townspeople 
was very generous, one of whom, a man of means and 
not a member of any church, gave outright a suitable 
building lot, another gave all the building stone required 
at only the cost of taking it from the quarry, another 
promised some thousands of feet of lumber when they 
were ready to undertake the building, and so on. 

While Frank Dunn was in town one day on this busi- 
ness and in conversation with the proprietor of the large 
and only hardware store in the place, the merchant said 
to him: “ Frank, I would like to do something to help 
you people here, and, inasmuch as I have more real estate 


106 KATHERINE BARRY, 

than ready money just now, I am going to submit this 
offer: I own the house and lot adjoining the lot you have 
secured for your church, and I have been thinking it 
would make your people a nice rectory. Now, I cannot 
afford to give it all to you, but I will say this, estimat- 
ing the property at $3,500, which you know is a very low 
figure on it, I will deed it over, writing the deed at $3,500 
and endorsing $1,000, my donation, as a cash payment, 
and give you all the time you want to pay the balance.” 

“Well, Mr. Cole,” said Frank, seizing his hand, “I 
am more than thankful for your splendid offer. Our 
priest is coming here to live the first of May, and it will 
be a great thing to have a house ready for him to go 
into. I can’t begin to thank you enough.” 

“ I do this, Frank,” said the merchant, placing his 
hand on Frank’s shoulder, “ to show my regard for you, 
and Mr. Barry, and the Keegan brothers and several 
others of your people that I know and have had dealings 
with — more, in truth perhaps, as a tribute to your worth 
as desirable citizens than as a church gift as such.” 

“ Thank you,” said Frank, slightly upset by the unex- 
pected compliment, “ I am very much pleased, and I 
shall never forget it and I’m sure our people won’t.” 

During the winter also. Father Logan, aided by influ- 
ence very close to the bishop, had succeeded in having 
his charge divided and himself assigned to Plainfield. 
The transfer was not to take place, however, till the first 
of May following. 

A few days after the hardware merchant had made his 
offer of the house and lot, and in the week preceding the 
first of May, Father Logan came up to Plainfield to look 
after some preliminaries attendant upon his approaching 
removal, and was stopping with the Dunn family as usual. 
Frank had given him an account of the progress in secur- 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


107 


ing donations and, with particular delight, of the offer 
made by the hardware merchant. The priest- was evi- 
dently greatly pleased and became more and more inter- 
ested to the exclusion of every other consideration relating 
to the prospective church, as Frank described the value 
and the advantages of the property offered by Mr. Cole. 

“ Go down to-morra mornin’, Frank, and get a deed 
of the praperty before another day passes,” said the priest. 

“ All right,” answered Frank, “ I’ll do it, but how shall 
I have the deed made out — in whose name ought it 
to be ?” 

“ Well,” said the priest, peeping a little closer through 
his eyes, and with a deprecating wave of his hand as 
over a matter of small importance, “have it made out 
to me, so that if the people have any trouble payin’ for 
the church, the house ’ll shtand in my name, d’ye see?” 

Frank did not see, however, anything in favor of the 
priest’s proposition, but supposing that of course the 
property would altogether be eventually transferred to 
the bishop, he said nothing in opposition. 

The next day Frank set out to Plainfield, leaving the 
priest, who declined to accompany him, walking up and 
down the path in the front yard, reading his breviary. 
As usual, he was glum and so gruff in the morning that 
he was left quite to himself, the members of the house- 
hold occupying themselves with their duties about the 
place, never undertaking to approach nor to entertain 
him until after he had eaten his breakfast at about half- 
past nine or ten o’clock. When Frank returned a little 
before noon, the priest was at the front gate evidently 
awaiting him. 

“ I got tired of the house,” he said with a yawn and 
stretching of his arms, as Frank drove up, “ and I just 
game out to get the air,” 


io8 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


“You should have gone with me, the day is so fine,’’ 
returned Frank. 

“ It is a beautiful day,” said the priest. 

Stepping over the buggy wheel to the ground, Frank 
said: “Well, I’ve got the deed,” and taking it from an 
inside pocket he handed it to the priest. With an air of 
indifference, the priest took it unconcernedly, and with- 
out opening it or looking at it, carelessly clasped it in his 
hands behind him as he said: “That’s a fine horse ye 
have there. I’ve often admired him,” although as a matter 
of fact, he had never mentioned it before, for he took no 
interest in horses. 

“ Yes,” said Frank, turning toward the animal, as a 
shade of disappointment passed over his face, “ Jack’s 
a pretty good horse, but inclined to be a little bit lazy.” 
Then, as he looked about the yard, “ I don’t see David 
around, so I guess I’ll have to put him out and give him 
his dinner.” As he led the horse away, the priest went 
into the house, where, as soon as he closed the door be- 
hind him, he eagerly opened the deed and saw with sat- 
isfaction in his face, that it was duly signed, sealed and 
attested, and made out to himself without qualification. 
Putting it away in his bag, which he carefully locked, he 
took his hat and sauntered out again with the air of one 
thinking lightly of the objects about him. Near the stable 
was a wide gate in the roadside fence, and another oppo- 
site it at the rear of the yard, through which loaded 
wagons were taken from the fields to the barns across 
the road. Here the priest halted, and resting his arms 
on the roadside gate, was apparently watching a turkey 
strutting among his hens at the other side of the roadway, 
when Frank came out of the stables. Seeing the priest 
there, he walked over and leaning likewise upon the top 


KATHERINE BARRY. IO9 

rail, he said: “The roads have dried up wonderfully, 
and in places are getting quite smooth again.” 

“ There is mud enough between this and High Falls, 
I can tell ye,” said the priest. 

“ Well, I think,” returned Frank, “ you’ll find it about 
gone when you come to go back.” 

As they stood there talking, a man, evidently a farmer, 
drove by, and as he passed he glanced with darkened face 
and sinister look toward them. When he was beyond 
hearing the priest said: “Whoever that is, I think he 
doesn’t like us,” making a forced effort at a little laugh. 

“ That’s my next neighbor up the road. Bill Stanton,” 
said Frank. “He was not looking at you, but me — ^he 
does not like me very much.” 

“ How is that, Frank ?” asked the priest. 

“ Oh,” replied Frank, “ we’ve had a good deal of trouble 
over our line fences, for the past two years. He’s got 
a stretch of land joining me that he threw out to com- 
mons, just to get rid of keeping the fences up, I believe, 
and because my pasture joins it, I’ve got to keep up my 
fence, and his too, along that stretch to keep my cattle 
from going through his commons and into his meadows 
beyond. If his part of the line fence was any good, or 
there was stuff enough there, I would not mind it so 
much, but there isn’t, it’s all rotted down, and I can’t 
cut a stake on his side, even in the commons, to keep up 
his own fence with, but what there’s trouble over it, for 
he watches along there pretty close. We’ve had words 
several times, and the neighbors have got onto it, and it 
worries me a good deal because our disagreement is ■ 
ting out around so’s everybody knows it, and he loses 
no chance to give me a bad name.” 

“ Do you think that it’s because you’re a Catholic has 
something to do with it ?” asked the priest, 


no 


KATHERINE BARRY 


“I wouldn’t wonder,” answered Frank, “but then 
he’d have trouble with anyone over things as they are.” 

“ To suffer persecution for yer religion, Frank,” said 
the priest, “ is a sign of the martyr’s faith. Don’t be dis- 
couraged: think of the blood shed by the noble army of 
martyred saints for our holy faith, and God ’ll strengthen 
you.” 

How much further he would have gone on in pious 
exhortation can not be told, for at this point Mary, who 
had come toward them from the kitchen, was observed 
by him as he turned to lean his back against the gate. 
“Well, Mary,” he called out merrily, “are ye looking 
out for that man ye were tellin’ us about ? I haven’t 
seen him passing while I’m here — at least, I hope I 
haven’t,” and he laughed loudly as he peeped at her. 

Mary stood with forced smile a moment, and then said : 
“ Frank, dinner is ready,” and turning, walked quickly 
back to the house. 

As r r .ink and the priest followed slowly, Frank asked : 
“ Did you find the deed was made out all right ?” 

“ When I get home,” answered the priest with a tone 
of finality, “ I’ll look at it and see if it is made out prop- 
erly. I wish the next time you go to Plainfield, you’d 
see the man that owns the quarry and find out how soon 
we can put men at work getting out shtone.” 


CHAPTER XIV. 


Allusions to her home-coming in Kate’s recent letters, 
stirred the old people to such a state of expectancy that 
quite everything undertaken or done about the place was 
undertaken and done with regard to her coming. The 
planting should be done ‘ ‘ before Katherine comes home,” 
the stables must be whitened “before Katherine gets 
back,” and hens and turkeys were “set” so that the 
broods would “be cornin’ out whin Katherine’s here.” 

The old man spaded and raked over her flower-beds 
along the north side of the garden, to have them “ ready 
fer her whin she got home,” and the old lady brought 
out the various bulbs which Kate had labelled away in 
boxes last season, and set them along in the narrow 
flower-bed under the south sitting-room windows, and 
in the flower plats out in the front yard. Housecleaning 
was accomplished with more than the usual upset of 
everything and everybody, and, while more than usually 
thorough, was hurried to completion as if Kate was to 
arrive before it might be finished. Betty went to bed 
very tired these nights, and often quite gruntled over 
hearing Mrs. Barry say “ as many times in an hour as I 
have fingers and toes,” “what will Katherine think to 
find things so and so,” even after she had done her work 
as well as usual. When finally, a letter was received 
mentioning the day on which Kate was to start for home, 
and the time at which the train would be due at High 
Falls, the spirit of her presence seemed to reanimate the 
house, filling by anticiaption, the atmosphere with the 

[in] 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


1 12 

life and light of her personality. The old people seemed 
disposed to do little else than to talk, twenty times a day, 
of whether they had better go themselves to meet her, 
or send Andy , Df what the weather might be on the day 
of her arrival ; and to fnss about, as far as they could do 
so, in making everything ready for getting her home from 
the station. 

At length the day came round, and Andy having given 
Pete an extra measure of oats that morning, and having 
done the chores with unusual dispatch, was ready an 
hour before the time set for his trip to High Falls. The 
train was due from the West at one o’clock, and Mr. Barry 
had calculated that by starting at nine, Andy would reach 
High Falls about noon, and have an hour in which to 
give Pete his dinner before the arrival of the train. As 
Andy drew up in front of the^porch for final instructions, 
Mrs., Barry put an umbrella and a waterproof cloak under 
the seat, “because,” said she, “they’re no burden if it 
don’t rain, an’ if it does, she’ll be glad to have thim.” 

Standing on the steps, the old people watched him till 
he disappeared beyond the orchard and then, at the old 
man’s suggestion, they went into the garden “ to see how 
things were cornin’ up.” As they were stooping there 
over a hotbed, commenting on the size of the cabbage 
plants, they heard a shout, and looking up, saw Mr. Whhe, 
a neighbor, halting his team in the road in front of the 
garden. 

“ D’you know your sheep ’ve got into your medder ?” 
he called out. 

“ No, I didn’t,” answered Mr. Barry, letting down the 
cover of the hotbed and walking a few steps toward the 
man. 

“Waal, ez I came along, I saw them in there ’n I thought 


Catherine Barry. 1 1 3 

likely you didn’t know on’t,” said Mr. White starting his 
horses by jerking the reins. 

“ Indeed I didn’t, an’ I must go right over an’ get thim 
out,” returned Mr. Barry. 

“ How in th’ world can ye manage now without Andy !” 
exclaimed Mrs. Barry. 

“ I’ll take a dish o’ salt along,” he answered confidently, 
“ an’ get thim back aisy enough, don’t mind now.” 

But the task proved much more difficult than the old 
man expected, for the sheep, owing to their changed sur- 
roundings, or because they preferred real mouthfuls of 
clover to a promised dainty held afar off, paid no heed to 
his calls and ostentatious display of the salt dish, but ran 
down one side of the field to a corner where they nipped 
the clover till he came near, when back they ran to the 
other side and foraged again with great relish till his 
approach started them off anew. Before he succeeded 
in getting them out of the meadow, he had to call Mrs. 
Barry and Betty to his aid, and, stationing them at one 
side opposite a gap he had opened in the fence comer, 
he startled the flock from across the field, and as it neared 
the opening made in the fence, they all closed in with 
much shouting and brandishing of arms and sunbonnets, 
and forced the flock thus cornered to run through into 
the pasture. 

This diversion, while helpful in so far as it withdrew 
the old people from expectantly watching the slowly pass- 
ing hours, was rather too much for the old man, who, 
upon returning to the house, lay down upon the lounge 
where he rested till called to dinner, after which he re- 
turned to the lounge and slept through an hour or more 
of the afternoon. 

After dinner, Mrs. Barry told Betty to have everything 
ready for supper at five o’clock, the hour at which they 


114 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


expected Kate, allowing for possible delays. Half an 
hour before that time, however, Mrs. Barry, when up- 
stairs opening the blinds at the windows in Kate’s room 
from which the sun had gone, heard a call from Mr. 
Barry, whom she had left sitting below on the porch. 
Hearing at the same time the rattle cf wheels, and sur- 
mising what it was, she hastened down stairs where, 
as she entered the sitting-room Kate, who was embracing 
her father, flew with a cry of delight to her mother, and 
throwing her arms about her neck, kissed her again and 
again while the old woman, clasping her, wept for joy. 
As her mother released her she saw Betty standing in 
the doorway to the kitchen, and running over, seized her 
by both hands and gave her a kiss on the cheek. 

“ I am so glad to be home again and to see you all 
looking so well,” exclaimed Kate, taking off her gloves 
as she turned from Betty. “ I worried so about father 
ever since you wrote he was ill, but he looks real well.” 
Placing her hat on the table she said, turnine to her 
mother and putting her arms about her again, ‘ ‘ and you, 
dear mother, how have you been all this long time ?” 

“ It was, acushla, a long and lonesome time enough 
fer us, ye may be sure o’ that,” answered Mrs. Barry. 
“ Whin father got sick, I thought I must sind fer ye, but 
I’m glad now ye had yer visit out.” 

“ I’ll wager little’ Katie felt bad to see ye lavin’ thim,” 
said Mr. Barry. 

“ Dear me, yes, and she wanted to come home with 
me too, but they wouldn’t think of it, they were so fear- 
ful of her getting homesick so far from home,” returned 
Kate. 

“ Does she show th’ effects of her sickness ?” asked 
Mrs. Barry. 

“ Not a bit,” answered Kate, “ I think she looks better 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


II5 

than she did before. As soon as X get my trunk cn^n^ 
I’ll show yon a daguerreotype of her taken just a 1 j w aays 
before I left.” 

Here Betty came to the door and asked: “ Mrs. Barry, 
will I make th’ tay ?” 

“ Do Betty, fer I’m sure,” turning to Kate, “ yer both 
hungry and tired.” 

“ Well,” replied Kate laughingly, “I’m just a little 
tired and a good deal hungry, — I guess I’ll run up and 
change my dress before supper, and if Andy will bring 
up my trunk I’ll bring the daguerreotypes down when I 
come.” 

In the ensuing days Kate went about the stables and 
barns, and out in the fields accompanied by her mother 
or father or both, to be shown what was changed or new 
during her absence : the young pigs, the lambs, the calves, 
the fields sown with wheat and oats this year, and those 
planted with corn and potatoes, what was done in the 
garden and what in getting her flower-beds ready. They 
showed her by a mark made on the side of the cherry tree, 
how deep the snow of the great storm had been, and over 
beyond the barns, they pointed out where “ Star-face” 
and “ White-foot ” had floundered to the “ flat lot ” be- 
low. Within, everything was quite the same as before, 
changes in the old home were unnecessary and unthought 
of. But with great pride, her mother brought out from 
a closet a large basket filled with vari-colored carpet rags 
wound up into great balls, and mentioned the old gar- 
ments of which they were made, of how well they were 
sewed, and of how many yards of carpet she had ‘ ‘ th’ 
makin’.” 

They told her in response to her eager inquiries, of 
what had been accomplished over at Plainfield in church 
matters, and it was arranged that, on the following Sun- 


xi6 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


day afternoon, they would drive over to show her the 
“ beginning ” made on the new church. Owing to some 
delay in the arrival of his successor at High Falls, Father 
Logan had not yet taken up his residence at Plainfield, 
and therefore, the Sundays intervening between “ church 
Sundays ” were still days of unoccupied leisure. After 
dinner, therefore, on the Sunday following, Andy had 
brought the family carriage up to the porch and Mr. 
Barry had taken his place beside him and was awaiting 
Mrs. Barry and Kate, when Frank Dunn drove up to the 
house. 

“ Hello Frank,” said Mr. Barry, “ what’s the news ?” 

“ Nothing particular,” answered Frank, “ I just drove 
over to see if you would send a team down to the Lime 
Kiln Bridge with a team of mine to-morrow to haul a 
couple of loads of lime for the church. There were two 
teams last week drawing sand, and now the masons are 
out of lime, and I didn’t know who I could call on right 
off, unless you, and to send a team of my own.” 

“Why, yes,” answered Mr. Barry, “ I can sind Andy 
to-morrow, or if I don’t. I’ll go mysel’.” 

Here Mrs. Barry and Kate stepped out on the porch 
all ready to take their seats in the carriage, seeing whom, 
Frank exclaimed: “Why Kate, how do you do!”, and 
getting out of his buggy, he continued as he mounted 
the steps, “when did you get back — I really supposed 
you were in the West yet ?” 

“ I got home Thursday last,” Kate replied, extending 
her hand. 

Mrs. Barry greeted Frank effusively, and inquired after 
his mother and sister. “We were just going over to 
Plainfield to show Katherine the new church/’ she said, 
“ but there’s time enough — won’t you come in ?” 

“Oh no, thank you,” answered Frank, “not to-day, 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


II7 


but if Kate wouldn’t object, she could ride over with me,” 
he continued as the color crept up into the v/hite of his 
temples showing under the rim of his higher fitting Sun- 
day hat. 

“Well,” said Kate, looking at her mother, “ I’d just 
as soon.” 

“To be sure,” said Mrs. Barry, going down the steps 
and leaving Kate to the exigency she was pleased to see 
her in. 

“ Well,” said Mr. Barry, leaving his seat beside Andy 
and taking that designed for Kate beside her mother, 
“ if that’s the way it is. I’ll ride here with you, mother, 
an’ give Andy plenty of elbow-room.” 

As the carriage containing the old people moved away, 
Frank brought his buggy up in front of the steps and, 
helping Kate to her seat, took his place beside her and 
drove out, following the other carriage down the road. 

In the happiness of home-coming Kate was more con- 
genial than Frank had ever known her to be. She told 
with great animation, of the principal events of her visit, 
of the people she met and of her impressions of the coun- 
try, and altogether appeared more charming and beauti- 
ful than he had ever seen her before. To her inquiries 
concerning parish affairs, Frank gave a running account 
of all that had been accomplished. 

“ Who keeps house for the priest ?” Kate asked. 

“ I really don’t know,” answered Frank, “ I’ve never 
been to his house, and I never heard him mention her.” 

“ I wonder whether he will entertain as Father Mc- 
Nally did,” queried Kate. 

“ Oh no, I guess not,” said Frank, “he isn’t much of 
a society man, I think.” 

“ Do you still like him as well as you did at first ?” she 
asked. 


KATHERINE RARRV. 


ii8 

'‘Oh, he’s a good priest,” answered Frank, “the only 
trouble is, he hasn’t learned the ways of this country yet.” 

“ I understand,” said Kate, “that he isn’t much of a 
preacher.” 

“No, nothing very great,” said Frank. “ He told me 
once that preaching was not of much importance in the 
Catholic church. He said that he had once heard a wise 
old priest say that ‘ preaching was all fol-de-rol.’ ” 

“Why, how absurd!” exclaimed Kate, “ I think it is 
very odd for a priest to say that of one of the greatest 
functions of his calling ! He stops quite regularly at your 
house, doesn’t he ?’ 

“Yes,” answered Frank, “but he will move into the 
rectory next week, and then I don’t suppose we’ll see him 
over there so often.” 

“ I suppose you’ll miss his regular calling ?” said Kate 
tentatively. 

‘‘ Oh well, I don’t suppose we’re very good company 
for a priest anyway — particularly for one like Father 
Logan.” 

“ Why, how is that ?” inquired Kate. 

“ He’s very reserved, you know,” answered Frank, 
“ and we don’t always know how to take him.” 

“ He may be a good priest, as you say,” returned Kate, 
looking away into the fields, “but I must confess 1 was 
not impressed favorably the very first time I saw him. 
You know one is not always responsible for impressions, 
for they come unsolicited and I think, affect our minds 
more or less — mine always affect me very much, and they 
are seldom, very seldom shown to be wrong later.” 

When they reached the outskirts of the village, the 
carriage containing the old people halted till Frank drove 
up, whereupon it went on again directly to the. church 
site. There the old people remained in their carriage, 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


II9 

while Frank and Kate alighted and went in for a closer 
view of the excavation, and the walls outlining the size 
and form of the ground plan of the proposed structure. 
Returning, they went over to the old people and Kate 
said: “ There isn’t as much done as I expected to see, 
from all you said of it, but I can see what it is going to 
be. That’s the new rectory, is it ?” turning and looking 
toward the house adjoining, and without waiting for re- 
ply, continued: “what a generous act that was of Mr. 
Cole!” 

“Have any papers been made out yet ?” asked Mr. 
Barry, addressing Frank. 

“ Yes,” answered Frank, “ Mr. Cole handed me the 
deed and I gave it to Father Logan.” 

“ Well, I suppose he may ’s well houldit, but av coorse, 
th’ house belongs to th’ parish as it was intinded ?” said 
Mr. Barry. 

“ Well, I don’t know,” said Frank with 'some diffidence, 
“how that’ll be. Father Logan wanted the deed made 
to him and so it was done that way.” 

“ Fwhat’s that yer sayin ?” asked Mr. Barry with a nod 
of his head toward Frank, and looking at him intently, 
“ he wanted th’ deed made to him ?” 

“ Yes,” said Frank, taking hold of the wheel-rim and 
putting his foot on the hub, “ that was his order.” 

“ An’ he has it now, an’ made in his own name ?” de- 
manded Mr. Barry. 

“ Yes,” said Frank, “ he took it home with him.” 

“ Well, that bates me,” said Mr. Barry, leaning back in 
his seat. 

“ Sure, in whose name could it be but his ?” asked Mrs. 
Barry in pacificatory tone. 

“ It could be in th’ name av a commitay or a boord av 
three or four min in thrust fer th’ parish !” exclaimed Mr, 


120 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


Barry, speaking over his shoulder at his wife with some 
excitement. 

“Oh well, father,” interposed Kate, “maybe that is 
all temporary and it will be transferred when the persons 
are designated to hold it.” 

“ I think,” added Frank, “ there’ll be no trouble about 
it — he’ll do what is right.” 

“ Well, we’ll see,” said Mr. Barry, “ but if I was at th’ 
makin’ o’ th’ deed, I’d never ’d allow it.” As he paused, 
Frank looked somewhat discomfitted, but made no de- 
fense. “ Come, Katherine,” said Mr. Barry, rising to 
take the place beside Andy. “ Come, get in, an’ we’ll be 
goin’ home.” Kate went round to the side of the vacated 
seat and entered the carriage. 

“Well,” said Frank, recovering himself as quickly as 
possible and to divert his confusion, “ I’ll count on your 
team to go down with mine to-morrow for the lime ?” 

“You may,” said Mr. Barry, “ if th’ day’s fair.” 

“Come over an’ see us, an’ bring your mother an’ 
Mary,” said Mrs. Barry as the carriage began to move. 

“Yes, I will,” answered Frank. “ Good-evening.” 

“ Good- evening,” they called out together as they drove 
away, leaving Frank in anything but a self-satisfied state 
of mind as he entered his buggy and set out toward home. 

That evening, John Harmon, to the surprise of the old 
people, appeared at about the old time hour at the Barry 
farm-house, and as they observed, Kate must have been 
expecting him, for she had “ fixed up ” after supper, and 
had lighted a lamp in the parlor as she always did when 
he was coming. He brought with him two books which 
he wished Kate to read, “ so different in subject style and 
scope,” as he expressed it, that when she tired of reading 
one, she would find entertainment in the other. His 
stay through the evening was unusually late, and Mrs. 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


I2I 


Barry was several times at the point of showing her dis- 
approval in some way, had it not been for the restraining 
influence of the old man. 

At length, he took his departure, and as Kate passed 
her parents’ room upstairs where her father had already 
retired, and her mother, seated in a rocking-chair, was 
looking over a box of old daguerreotypes, she looked in, 
and saying softly: “good-night, mother,” was about to 
proceed to her own room, but her mother, looking up 
with a shade of displeasure on her face as she said some- 
what coldly: “Good-night,” Kate paused a moment, 
and then going into the room, she put her arms about her 
mother’s neck, and kissing her affectionately, drew her 
face around till she looked into her eyes as she said again : 
“ Good-night,” and drew from her mother: “ Good-night, 
acushla,” in tones dear to her from babyhood. 


CHAPTER XV. 


Next day, Mrs. Barry was in a very uncomfortable con- 
dition of mind. She had hoped that when Kate returned 
after so long absence, there would be no more of John 
Harmon’s attentions. It was this expectation which had 
influenced her most in consenting to the extension of 
Kate’s stay in the West, and yet, after all, on the very 
first Sunday evening after Kate’s return, he promptly 
appears again, and stays so late that she is surer than 
ever that there is “ somethin’ more than frinship between 
thim.” Could she allow this to go on ? If she did not 
“ say somethin’ ” who would, and if nothing was said, 
how was it all going to end ? Well, she could see very 
plainly, as any one might, and she was not “ goin’ to put 
up with it much longer.” The circumstances and the 
nature of the undertaking were such, however, that she 
must conceal from her husband and daughter the trouble 
that vexed her, and her determination growing out of it. 
It was new experience for her and hard as it was novel 
to find a difficulty on her mind or a burden on her heart, 
however light, without seeking, as was her custom, the 
relief to be obtained by sharing it with her husband or 
daughter. If she should mention now, again, to Mr. 
Barry her disapproval of John Harmon’s visits to Kate, 
she knew very well what he would say, and, remembering 
his recent repeated unqualified dissent from her view of 
the matter, she shrank from drawing upon herself anew 
his emphatic expression of disagreement. She could not 
speak to Kate about it — not yet, but before very long, 

[X22j 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


123 


just as soon as she could see her way sufficiently, she 
must, of course, try to make Kate look at it in the light 
in which she viewed it ; but for the present, there was no 
one with whom, she could confer or of whom she could 
take counsel in this trouble so near her heart. 

Mr. Barry had driven away after breakfast to join Frank 
Dunn in hauling the lime as promised the day before, 
and Mrs. Barry and Kate, left to themselves for the day, 
were placed in a situation v/hich made more difficult to 
carry out successfully the task the old woman had under- 
taken, for she found herself hourly face to face with the 
temptation which the opportunity afforded to speak her 
mind at once to Kate, and succeeded in resisting only by 
promising herself that she would wait to see what would 
come to pass on the following Sunday evening. If John 
Harmon did not come again, she would not only be re- 
lieved but glad that she had had the patience to forebear 
so well: if he did come, then there should be no more 
putting off — she would broach the subject at once. 

But Mrs. Barry did not conceal as well as she thought 
she might the fact that there was trouble on her mind 
for Kate, not only noticed the preoccupation of her 
mother’s mind, but perceived, through her sensitive 
nature, in the air, so to speak, a disturbance of harmoni- 
ous conditions. She surmised that it was all owing to 
the lateness of the hour at which Mr. Harmon had taken 
his leave the night before, and grieving over its unhappy 
effect upon her mother’s peace of mind, she secretly 
promised that not again would she suffer the like to hap- 
pen. She could not think of anything else to account 
for what she saw and felt — she was certain she under- 
stood it all. Therefore, as she sat opposite her mother 
in the afternoon with her needlework, and noticed the 
activity of her mother’s knitting-needles and the abstrac- 


124 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


tion in her face, which repeated suggestions of topics of 
usual interest failed to more than momentarily clear 
away, she could endure the condition no longer and, after 
a silence in which she resolved in her mind what she 
would say and how she should begin it, she said : “ Would 
you like, mother, to hear me read from one of those books 
Mr. Harmon brought last night ?” 

“ No, Katherine, I don’t believe I could undhershtan’ 
it — I never did undhershtan’ the kind o’ books he brings 
here, as ye know yersel’.” 

After a little pause, Kate said: “ We got so interested 
last evening talking of books I read last winter that be- 
fore we knew it, it was so late — why, I never heard the 
clock strike till just before he went.” 

So many forms of reply came crowding to the old 
woman’s lips for expression, that in her uncertainty, a 
few moments passed in which nothing at all was said, 
and Kate misinterpreting this as indicating that she was 
making no progress along the line undertaken, came 
abruptly to the point by saying: “You thought he staid 
too late, didn’t you, mother ?” as she dropped her hands 
and her work into her lap and looked inquiringly into her 
mother’s face. 

“Ye have sinse enough to know f what’s right yersel’ 
av I was dead an’ gone,” answered Mrs. Barry without 
stopping her knitting or raising her eyes from her work. 

Kate continued to look at her mother for a few mo- 
ments, and then, slowly taking up her work again began to 
sew as she said seriously : “ I know what is right, mother, 
and I am sure that knowingly, I have never done other- 
wise. I carelessly took no notice of the time — it was 
simply carelessness and nothing else.” Letting her work 
again drop into her lap and looking at her mother, she 
continued: “ Anyway, I could hardly intimate to a gem 


KATHERINE BARRY. 125 

tleman like Mr. Harmon that he did not know when he 
ought to go.” 

“No,” returned Mrs. Barry, drawing her needle and 
glancing toward the window, “an’ if he was th’ gintle- 
man he pretinds to be, ye wouldn’t have to.” 

“ Oh mother!” exclaimed Kate, resuming her work. 

Both lapsed into silence again, and for some minutes 
not a word was spoken. At length Kate rose from her 
chair, and seating herself near the window at the other 
side of the table, said, as she resumed her sewing: 
“Well, mother, it will not happen again, for you know 
I could never do anything knowingly to grieve you or 
give you trouble.” Ordinarily this would have been suf- 
ficient to bring Mrs. Barry to affectionate terms, and, al- 
though not uttered for such purpose alone, Kate was 
painfully disappointed to perceive that her mother took 
no notice of it. On the other hand, Mrs. Barry could 
hardly refrain from falling into the old-time terms of for- 
giveness and affection, and only succeeded in avoiding 
it by keeping her mind on the task yet before her. For 
a moment she was about to open up the subject at once, 
but, quickly recovering herself, she returned to her de- 
cision to wait till after Sunday. In the silence that fol- 
lowed for several minutes, the activity of the thoughts 
of mother and daughter was manifested in the activity 
of their fingers, Kate wondering why her mother made 
so great and serious a matter of what seemed to her very 
trivial, and Mrs. Barry thinking, as before stated, of the 
real, but so far concealed, cause of her anxiety. The 
rattle of a wagon in the driveway caused them to look up 
as Mrs. Barry said: “ I think that’s father — see av it is.” 
After crossing the room to the window, Kate said : “Yes, 
he’s going on over to the stables.” 


126 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


“Well, tell Betty to put th’ kittle over, an’ to be gettin’ 
th’ supper ready,” said Mrs. Barry. 

Through the week there were times when Kate could 
see no indication in her mother’s face or manner of the 
trouble which she had so thoughtlessly caused her, but 
the pleasure she at such times felt and more or less pur- 
posely expressed, only resulted in bringing back, to Kate’s 
astonishment, the cloud of thoughtful silence. As Sun- 
day drew near she was glad that the opportunity would 
soon be hers to show her mother how mindful she could 
be hereafter to avoid giving her occasion for displeasure. 

Sunday was “ church day ” again, and although it was 
generally known that Father Logan was about to take 
up his residence in Plainfield, there were many expres- 
sions of pleased surprise by the people living outside the 
village as they learned upon their arrival at the town 
hall, that he had taken possession of the rectory on the 
day before. As the Barry carriage drew up in front of 
the hall. Father Logan and Frank Dunn were seen ap- 
proaching from the direction of the rectory, and as the 
priest turned into the yard to enter the hall, Frank 
walked on to where the Barry folk were alighting. After 
the usual salutations, Frank said: “ I’ve just been up to 
the new church and find that the priest moved into the 
house yesterday.” 

“ I thought that was th’ case,” said Mr. Barry, “ when 
I saw him an’ you cornin’ down th’ shtreet. I suppose 
now he’ll be here reg’lar afther this,” he continued. 

“Yes,” said Frank, “ there’ll be mass now every Sun- 
day.” 

“Won’t that be th’ blessid thing!” exclaimed Mrs. 
Barry. 

“ Did you see his housekeeper ?” asked Kate. 


KATHERINE BARRY. \2J 

“ Well, I saw a woman there, but whether she’s his 
housekeeper or not, I don’t know.” 

“ What does she look like ?” asked Kate with some 
eagerness. 

“ Oh, she’s a good looking young woman, I should say 
about thirty years of age,” answered Frank. 

“ We’ll probably see her at church,” said Kate as she 
led the movement toward the hall door. 

But in that she was mistaken, for the housekeeper did 
not appear at the service, nor at any subssequent one in the 
hall, for, as was explained long afterward, she told one 
of her early acquaintances in Plainfield that she “ wasn’t 
going to spoil her dresses in that dirty old place — when 
the new church was finished she would go to church, but 
not before.” 

When they returned home from church, Kate was 
pleased to see her mother more like herself than she had 
been in the week past. At the hall she had met some old 
acquaintances whom she had not seen in many months, 
who resided some distance back in the country and who 
attended church very irregularly — during the latter part 
of Father McNally’s pastorate, not at all. She talked 
with pleased interest of the “ blessin’ av havin’ a priest 
o their own among thim now,” and referred to the time 
when a priest came once in three months a distance of 
seventy odd miles to say mass, and became reminiscent 
over the events and the incidents attendant upon the 
masses and services held in the little sitting-rooms of the 
early settlers. In all this review she failed not to mention 
the names of those who voluntarily labored to help the 
growth of the church, from Peter Mullen, in whose house 
the first mass was said many years before, down to Frank 
Dunn and his self-sacrificing service to the priest and the 


128 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


people, and spoke of him as a “ good, noble young man 
that desarved well o’ everybody.” 

After supper Kate played several old Irish airs for her 
father, and responded in happy mood to her mother’s 
request to sing her favorite songs. Later, as the twilight 
deepened, Kate left the piano, and after lighting the sit- 
ting-room lamp, went into the parlor and lit the lamp 
there, observing which, her mother’s face became serious 
and she grew silent and thoughtful. Resuming her 
music, Kate sang and played until Mr. Harmon arrived, 
whereupon the old people went out to seats on the porch 
as Kate showed him into the parlor. 

How Kate brought it about was not apparent, but about 
nine o’clock Mr. Harmon took his departure, and she 
entered the sitting-room just as her father was going 
upstairs to his room. Confident of having complied with 
her mother’s wishes, she bade her parents “ good-night ” 
with a happy heart, and went, oipstairs to her room. 

The next day Kate was surprised and disappointed as 
she observed again the cloud on her mother’s face, even 
darker than at any time in the week preceding. As she 
marvelled in wonder over it, the thought came to her 
that possibly she had gone too far in taking it all upon 
herself — that possibly there might be some reason for 
it which did not involve her at all. But, what could it 
be ? If it was due to business trouble, her father cer- 
tainly was not taking it at all seriously, whereas, as a mat- 
ter of fact, he was the very one who would make the 
greatest display of feeling under such conditions. The 
more she thought of it, the less was she satisfied with any 
conclusion arrived at. 

In the afternoon the weather became very warm. It 
was the first really hot, summer-like day of the season, 
and the sun’s rays came down through the still atmos- 


Catherine barrV. 


iig 

phere with scorching intensity. Soon after dinner Mrs. 
Barry went up to her room for a nap, and Kate, left to 
herself, took her Imitation of Christ and, after seeking 
in vain some perceptible stir in the air at a window on 
the north side of the house, and then at one on the west 
side, finally seated herself on the porch where the thick 
foliage of the Virginia creeper, by shutting out the sun’s 
rays and the heated air, afforded the most comfortable 
spot about the house. To her perplexed and somewhat 
discouraged soul, the pious counsels of the book brought 
some solace and spirit of patience. If she were fully 
assured that the troubled look in her mother’s face was 
due to any affair or circumstance not involving her, how 
immeasurably relieved she would be, and how quickly 
she would fly to her with the support her comfort might 
bring. But against every such conclusion stood the rec- 
ollection of her mother’s words and manner in their 
short conversation upon the subject of the week before. 

Thinking thus, and reading by turns for perhaps an 
hour, she heard her mother come downstairs and presently 
saw her, with a large palm-leaf fan in her hand, looking 
out from the doorway as if seeking someone. 

“ Who are you looking for, mother ?” inquired Kate. 

“ I was just lookin’ to see wheyre you were,” answered 
Mrs. Barry, as she stepped out on the porch and seated 
herself in a chair near her. 

“ Isn’t it awfully warm ?” asked Kate as her mother 
began fanning herself. 

“ Yis, it’s very hot,” answered Mrs. Barry. 

“ Did you have a good nap ?” inquired Kate. 

“ No,” answered^her mother, “ not very good.’ 

“Dear me!” exclaimed Kate, “ it is so warm one 
doesn’t feel like doing much of anything.” 

After a pause of some moments, 'during which Mrs. 


130 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


Barry held the fan in one hand while she felt of its rini 
with the other, she said: “Now Katherine, don’t you 
think that Misther Harmon’s cornin’ here altogether too 
much ?” 

“ Why mother,” said Kate, closing her book, “ what 
makes you think so ?” 

“Fwhat makes me think so!”repeated her mother, again 
fanning herself, “wasn’t he here every Sunday night 
before ye wint away, an’ now, as soon as yer back, fer 
him to begin again !” 

“ Well, mother,” said Kate, smiling as over a trifling 
matter, “ what harm can there be in that ?” 

“ Fwhat harm !” returned Mrs. Barry, “ ye know yersel’ 
he’s a Protishtan’, an’ that ought to be enough. Av 
coorse,”she continued, “yer at that age now whin ye might 
be thinkin’ o’ marriage, an’ av he was a Catholic like our- 
sel’s I wouldn’t say a word, but fer a child o’ mine ta 
marry a Protishtan’, ’’dropping the fan in her lap and lift- 
ing her hands and eyes in prayerful attitude, “ I hope 
I’ll never live to see it.” 

“ Why mother,” said Kate very earnestly, and looking 
into her mother’s face with candid eyes as she folded her 
hands over the book in her lap, “ Mr. Harmon has never 
said one single word directly nor indirectly to me about 
marriage — never. ” 

“Well,” replied her mother, looking up at the leaves 
of the creeper, “ avhe hasn’t, that’s no sign that he won’t, 
av things go on as they’re goin’.” 

“Why mother!” exclaimed Kate, leaning back in her 
chair, “ I am surprised to hear you talk so!” 

“Well, ye needn’t be,” returned her mother, nodding 
her head toward Kate, “ an’ av ye have any regard fer 
me, er yer father, er yer religion, ye’ll put a shtop to it.” 

Kate made no reply, but after looking at her mother 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


13 1 

with astonished eyes a few moments, dropped her chin 
upon her bosom and gazed upon her hands without 
seeing them. After some moments of painful silence, 
Mrs. Barry arose and returned within the house. As she 
went, Kate listened till she heard her talking with Betty 
in the kitchen and, arising quickly, she went with haste 
upstairs to her room and seating herself in an armchair 
near the window, gave vent to her feelings in a flood of 
tears. 

Recovering herself as soon as this burst of feeling had 
relieved somewhat her wounded heart, she wiped her 
eyes, and, after a glance into her mirror, crossed the room 
to her washstand and bathed her face and brushed her 
hair, for she feared that her mother would, at any moment 
come to her room or call her from dovmstairs. Then, 
seating herself by the window, she began to review, in 
the light so unexpectedly given her, those features of her 
mother’s conduct and manner during the past few weeks 
which had so puzzled her. How plain it all appeared to 
her now, and how stupid she was not to have discerned 
it quite as clearly before, particularly after having heard 
her mother express herself about Mr. Harmon as she did 
the week before ! Now, face to face with the solution of 
the trouble, what was she to do ? Should she write Mr. 
Harmon a note telling him briefly that his calls must be 
discontinued, or should she write at length explaining 
why ? She wished to be as j ast as she would be kind in 
the matter, and as nearly right as a woman’s heart de- 
manded in her procedure toward a man whom she re- 
spected, and whose good esteem she valued. Or, should 
she wait till he made his usual call on Sunday evening, 
and then tell him as best she could ? The more she con- 
sidered what course to take, the more she shrank from 
seeing him Sunday evening, and the more she inclined 


132 


KATHERINE BARRV. 


to writing the letter. In the midst of these thoughts she 
heard Betty calling her, and stepping to the door, was 
told that supper was ready. Glancing into her mirror, 
she was alarmed to see her face still showing so plainly 
indications of her distress. Again she sought at the wash- 
stand to refresh her looks, and, inproving her appearance 
somewhat, she went downstairs, but, instead of turning 
into the dining-room where she observed her parents 
already at the table, she went out at the front door, and, 
gathering a bunch of her choice roses, she went around 
to the side porch, in order to get all she could of the 
composing influence of the air, and, entering the dining- 
room from that side, she put the flowers in a vase, and 
placing it upon the table, seated herself in her usual 
place at the right of her father. As she did so, Mr. Barry, 
who had unceremoniously begun his meal, looked up and 
asked: “ Are ye sick, Katherine ?” 

“No,” she answered, “ not sick, but this heat makes 
me feel miserable.” 

Her mother had given her a searching look as she took 
her place at the table, but made no comment. 

“Well,” said her father, resuming his supper, “I 
thought ye looked as if somethin’ was wrong with ye. I 
see thunder-heads,” he continued, “ cornin’ up in th’ 
wesht, an’ av we get a shower it’ll cool things off be 
nightfall.” 

About sundown a thunder shower with sharp electric 
display cooled the air and refreshed everything. After 
the first heavy down-pour, the rain slackened somewhat, 
but continued to drizzle out of the blackness overhead 
through the early part of the night. This condition of 
the weather had a soporific effect upon the household, 
and afforded Kate the desired excuse for retiring early, 
not to sleep, but to throw off the restraint upon her true 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


m 


feelings, and to study out what course she should pursue. 
In the seclusion of her room she went over again, with 
minute recollection, every word and look of her mother 
on the porch that afternoon, and dwelt long and atten- 
tively upon what she said concerning religious belief. 
In the fairness of her pious and honest heart, she adniit- 
ted the truth in her mother’s words, and, aware of the 
extraordinary views on questions of religious belief held 
and advocated by Mr. Harmon, she wondered what her 
mother would say were' she cognizant of them. Strange, 
that she had never given this matter a moment’s thought 
heretofore, and yet again, would it not have been rather 
presumptuous if she had, for in very truth, as she had 
told her mother, Mr. Harmon had never, even remotely, 
intimated matrimony, nor had she ever seriously thought 
of it. As the result of their association, she had come to 
like him in an undefined way, more, perhaps, for his in- 
tellectuality than for any sentiment of the heart, and, 
without ever thinking why or whither, was pleased to 
drift along in his companionship and to give him the 'place 
of preferment in all her thoughts. Nevertheless, as her 
mother took position between them in uncompromising 
attitude, the effect upon her heart and mind was, some- 
how, quite the same as it would have been had her 
mother’s suspicions been correct. To terminate now 
the established relation, however vague its character, 
which had developed between herself and Mr. Harmon, 
would be a painful and difficult task. And yet, if their 
association pointed even prospectively toward matrimony 
was it not better that it should end now, for how could 
she ever wed a man, if it came to that, whose religious 
views not only differed so radically from her own, but 
were so at variance with all generally accepted forms of 
belief ? Yes, however great the sacrifice, it siirely must 


134 


KATHERINE BARRY 


be made, for it resolved itself simply into a question of 
loyalty to her religion, and to filial love and duty, as 
against her individual preference. Seating herself at 
her desk she began the letter to Mr. Harmon, stating at 
length the reasons for doing so, and requesting that his 
visits and all further attention should cease. Before the 
task was half accomplished, however, she tore the paper 
into pieces in dissatisfaction, and began anew, with how- 
ever no better results. After some consideration she 
decided to write simply a brief note instead of the long 
explanatory letter, and taking her pen again, she under- 
took its composition. But in this she succeeded but little 
better, and after trying again and again, she threw the 
fragments into the waste-basket, and closing the desk, 
sat down near the window with the conclusion quite 
fixed in her mind to wait till Sunday evening, and then 
to make her statement, and with such explanations as 
the occasion and the circumstances would require. This 
seemed to her, the more she considered it, the simplest 
and most straight forward course to take, and would also 
afford her an opportunity to say some things informally, 
which she would not intrust to paper. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

On the following Sunday, Father Logan announced 
at the service that he would deliver a lecture or discourse 
in the hall that evening, upon the One True Faith, and 
that he hoped to see a goodly number in attendance. It 
so happened that an aged couple, long-time residents of 
Plainfield village, and old friends of Mr. and Mrs. Barry, 
had been invited some time previously to take dinner, 
and spend the afternoon at the farm on that Sunday. 
Accordingly, when mass was over, the old couple were 
taken into the Barry carriage, although the crowding of 
three persons on each seat made the ride homeward any- 
thing but comfortable in the heat and dust of such a day. 

Arrived at the farm, they found the dinner “ready 
an’ waitin’,” as Betty expressed it, for in accordance with 
Mrs. Barry’s instructions she had prepared punctually 
at the hour, the steaming dishes of first “ new potatoes,” 
green peas and spring lamb, which each year marked the 
beginning of the harvest season, and were always grate- 
fully partaken of as a sort of triumphant feast of the year. 
After the dinner, the old people went out to the porch, 
where, in the shade of the Virginia creeper, they talked 
together of bygone days with so great entertainment to 
themselves, that Kate found opportunity to absent her- 
self, and going to her room she wrote, almost offhand, 
such a letter to Mr. Harmon as her constant thought 
upon the subject had formulated in her mind. Her pur- 
pose in doing this was to have the letter all ready to 
send to Plainfield should he fail to come over as expected 
that evening. 

When the hour arrived for the carriage to return to 

[i35j 


136 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


town, Kate told her mother that, to obviate the crowding 
in the vehicle, she would remain at home with Betty, 
and, Mrs. Barry assenting, they drove away just as the 
sun was setting, for the lecture, as announced, was to 
begin at eight o’clock, and would probably occupy an 
hour to an hour and a half. When they had gone Kate 
brought down from her room the two volumes Mr. Har- 
mon had brought her on the occasion of his last visit, and 
placed them upon the table in the parlor so that she 
might not forget to return them, and then, with her 
Imitation of Christ in her hand, she took her place on 
one of the side seats at the front door, and sought to com- 
pose herself for the trial at hand from the spiritual coun- 
sels of her “little comforter,” as she called it. She had 
not been sitting there very long when, upon looking 
down through the opening in the apple trees, she saw Mr. 
Harmon coming. As he drove into the yard, she went 
over to the driveway, and summoning all her good pur- 
poses, greeted him as usual. 

Upon halting his horse, Mr. Harmon retained his seat 
in the buggy, and after returning Kate’s salutation, said : 

‘ ‘ I propose that we take a drive, and get all the air there 
is on such an evening as this.” 

“ Oh, thank you, but I don’t see really how I can go,” 
answered Kate, “for there’s no one in the house but 
Betty.” 

“ Well,” he urged, “ she’s no child, and anyway, we’ll 
not be gone long.” As Kate stood in hesitation, he looked 
at his watch and added: “ Come, I’ll return you here in 
an hour and a half, or sooner if you say so.” 

“ Well,” answered Kate rather reluctantly. “ I’ll speak 
to Betty, and be ready in just a minute.” 

As she disappeared within the house, Mr. Harmon 
drove into the yard beyond, and turning around, drew up 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


137 


at the porch as Kate reappeared ready to accompany him. 
As they turned from the driveway into the road, he asked : 

“ Which way would you like to go ?” 

“ I have no preference,” answered Kate, “ only don’t 
go too far.” 

“ Well, if you have no choice, we’ll go up by the red 
mill,” said Mr. Harmon, “ and then, if there’s time enough, 
we’ll drive around by the doctor’s on the way back.” 

When they reached the old red mill, Kate said that she 
thought it would take too long to go up over the hill to 
the doctor’s. 

“Very well,” said Mr. Harmon, “we’ll drive in to the 
“flat rock,” and after a short stop, get back to the house 
at the appointed time.” 

The “ flat rock ” was a picturesque spot frequented by 
luncheon parties, picnickers, or people taking an outing 
for the day, and was so called from a large flat-topped 
rock deposited there near the river by some prehistoric 
cataclysm. The place was reached by a lane that turned 
in from the road, a short distance above the mill, and was 
situated near the head of the dam where the stream, 
after coming over the ripples in a sort of ravine above, 
glided into still water which backed up from the milldam, 
a distance of two hundred feet or more. The ground 
was shaded by maples and elms, and several fine old 
willows overhanging the stream. Rude tables stood 
about here and there, and seats were made by cutting 
in between the trees the ends of planks, and nailing a 
strip across from tree to tree for a back support. 

When they alighted here, Kate walked over to the 
river’s edge while Mr. Harmon tied his horse to a tree, 
and standing there looking down at the water the thought 
came to her that here she should make known the reasons 
that compelled her to deny him longer her company, and, 


138 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


at last to relieve her heart by opening a new wound in 
it. But instantly foreseeing the misery of the drive 
home afterwards, in the unhappy state of mind the occa- 
sion was likely to bring to both of them, she determined 
to postpone the matter till just before reaching the house 
on the return trip. Perceiving Mr. Harmon coming 
toward her, she turned from the water’s edge and seated 
herself on a bench near by. Some eight or ten paces 
distant Mr. Harmon halted, and after looking at her some 
moments with a pleased light in his eyes, said: “ This 
spot makes an appropriate setting for your beauty and 
your personality.” 

Kate was startled and for a moment embarrassed, for 
never before had she heard him make any comment 
whatever upon her personal appearance. ‘ ‘ How compli- 
mentary you are, Mr. Harmon!” she said, looking away 
across the river to recover from her confusion. Turning 
in a moment toward him with recovered eyes, she con- 
tinued: “ I have never been here at this hour before, 
and I must say that as greatly as I have always admired 
it, this place never appeared to me so charming as it does 
this evening.” 

As she said this, he seated himself beside her, and 
looking across river and valley to where the purpled hills 
were losing their sharp outline in the fading sky, and 
lilac-tinted clouds were slowly changing to blue and 
black, he continued: “Don’t charge me with uttering 
empty compliment when I say that as the beauty of that 
sunset reflects the glory of the sun, so yours is the reflex 
of your heart and mind.” 

As he turned to look at her, Kate pressed her hand- 
kerchief to her blushing face, exclaiming: “Why, Mr. 
Harmon, how very flattering you are determined to b§ 
this evening !’* 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


139 


“ I in^;end no flattery,” he returned, tossing his hat on 
the grass, “ it has been well said that beauty is becoming 
only when it is the outward manifestation of a pure heart 
and a cultivated mind.” Turning so as to look directly 
at Kate, who had pushed to the end of the bench, and 
was sitting with her back against the tree, he continued, 
drawing closer to her ; “ measured by the same standard, 
I know how well your beauty becomes you, and I have 
admired it not alone for what it is, but for what shone 
through it,” Kate, blushing deeply, dropped her eyes as 
he went on: “ and ever since I came to know you well, 
I want to tell you now that you have had my admiration,” 
taking her hand, “ yes, Kate, and more, my heart’s wor- 
ship, my love ” 

“ Don’t, Mr. Harmon! stop, please!” cried Kate, with- 
drawing her hand, her bosom heaving with emotion, “ it 
can never be!” and covering her scarlet face with her 
hands, she bowed her head while Mr. Harmon, checking 
himself abruptly and leaning back in his seat, looked at 
her in astonishment. 

After a silence of some moments, Kate wiped her eyes, 
and pressing her handkerchief against her chin, began 
without looking up : “ Pardon me, Mr. Harmon, for sev- 
eral days I have had something to tell you, but there was 
no opportunity till to-day, except by writing, and I put 
it off as long as I could. ’ ’ Pausing, she pressed her hand- 
kerchief to her eyes a moment, and then continued: “ If 
I had only had the heart or the courage to let you know 
at once, this v/ould never have happened,” and again 
pressing her handkerchief to her face, she bowed her 
head while Mr. Harmon looked on in amazement. 

After a few moments of silence, without changing his 
attitude, he said: “ I am ready to hear it now.” 

Something in the tone of hi§ voice had an instantly 


140/ 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


sobering effect upon Kate, who dropped her hands into 
her lap, and glancing at him, said: “ I know, of course, 
that you are a Protestant, while I am a Catholic, but I 
never gave it a thought until my mother spoke of it the 
other day, and said I was not doing right to encourage 
your attention, although I never considered it more than 
friendly. I must say that at first I thought she looked 
at it altogether too seriously, but the more I considered 
it, the more it seemed to me she was probably right in 
view of the way she looked at it. Now, after what has 
happened here so unexpected by me, I see that she was 
right in looking farther than I did.” As she paused, 
she wiped her eyes, and dropping her hands upon her lap, 
pulled her handkerchief this way and that with her eyes 
turned upon it. 

“ My views of religion,” said Mr. Harmon, “ are not of 
deliberate choosing, my belief is not subject to my will — 
but I need not apologize for my belief nor my disbelief, 
most assuredly to one who looks to another to think for 
her.” 

As he said this, he picked up his hat, and placing it 
upon his head with a slight tilt over his eyes, drew out 
his watch and after glancing at it, replaced it in his pocket 
without comment. 

Rising to her feet, Kate said: “ Mr. Harmon, I do not 
blame you for anything : you have a right to think and 
believe for yourself. I know you are honest in your be- 
lief, whatever it may be. To me, my religion is more 
than life, and I could never suffer anything to lessen my 
confidence in it.” 

As she said this, Mr. Harmon turned, and without a 
word walked slowly and with downcast face, over to his 
horse, and untying it, turned the vehicle around and 
looking toward Kate, said: “ Well, I guess we’re ready.” 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


14I 

When siie came over to him, he helped her into the buggy, 
and seating himself beside her, drove along the lane and 
out upon the road without a word. Down by the old 
grist-mill and out around on the mill road they went in 
silence, each evidently absorbed in thought and appar- 
ently indifferent to the presence of the other. The only 
word uttered was when Mr. Harmon urged his horse to 
a faster pace as he sped along the road through the thick- 
ening shadows of early night. When they came in sight 
of the Barry homestead, Kate broke the silence by ask- 
ing: “ What time is it, please ?” 

Looking at^his watch he answered: “ It is a quarter 
past nine.” 

Again they lapsed into silence which was unbroken till 
they turned into the driveway at the house, when Kate 
said: “ I have your books ready, an’d I will hand them 
to you if you will wait just a moment.” 

“ All right,” he answered, as he pulled up at the porch, 
where Kate stepped out of the buggy and darted into the 
house. After turning around in the yard, he drew up 
at the porch again where Kate reappeared and handed 
to him the volumes. Then extending her hand, she 
said: “ I hope we can always be good friends.” 

“ I hope so,” he returned, taking the tips of her fingers 
in his hand, and following this immediately with “ good- 
night,” ho started off while Kate stood looking after him. 
As he disappeared in the road, another vehicle drove into 
view, and recognizing the familiar sound as that of the 
family carriage, she quickly withdrew into the house and 
ran upstairs to her room. 


CHAPTER XVII. 


Frank Dunn’s neighbor, Bill Stevens, had in his em- 
ploy a farm hand named Johnson. He was about thirty 
years of age, short, thickset and sturdy. Judged by the 
color of his skin, hair, eyes and his features, he was not 
more than one quarter negro, whereas the slouching gait, 
the furtive look, and the explosive, husky laugh, peculiar 
to the African, were as characteristically marked in him 
as though no strain whatever of white blood mingled 
with the current of his dusky forefathers. He was a 
good worker, and because of his great strength, compe- 
tent as a desirable helper at the heaviest of farm work. 
Like the people of the negro race, he was simple-minded, 
easily amused and as easily offended, and the owner of 
a temper and a vindictive spirit that at times showed 
itself in absurdities. On one occasion when he stumbled 
and fell over a wheelbarrow in the dark, he caught up 
an axe, and smashed the barrow in his rage into kind- 
ling wood ; and on another occasion when a barn door, 
swung round by the wind, struck him from behind un- 
awares and threw him down, he sprang to his feet and 
fiercely belabored the door with a shovel which he hap- 
pened to have in his hand, till the handle parted and his 
vengeance was satisfied. He had been in Bill Stevens’ 
employ something over a year, although on several occa- 
sions very near his discharge when his temper and that 
of his employer, too much alike, rose in conflict. These 
collisions were most frequent when either or both of 
them had had recourse to the cider barrel which “ Bill,” 
as he was generally known, always kept on tap in the 
[142] 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


143 


cellar during “ hayin’ ’n harvestin’,” and on other occa- 
sions when difficult or unusually heavy labor justified, 
in his mind, a resort to stimulants. 

In the afternoon of a very hot day in the week follow- 
ing the incidents narrated in the preceding chapter, 
and when the haying season was about half over. Bill 
Stevens backed his team out of the barn, where a load ^ 
of hay had just been pitched off, and was turning about 
to go afield for another, when Johnson jumped over the 
side of the hayrack saying: “ I’m goin’ over to th’ well 
to git a drink — you go on. I’ll ketch ye.” 

Bill looked after him with suspicion in his eyes, and 
after going a short distance into the field, he brought 
his team around out of the course to the top of a little 
knoll from which, by standing up in the wagon, he could 
see the outside entrance to the cellar over the tops of 
the cherry trees along the garden. As he looked, he saw 
Johnson emerge from the cellar, wiping his mouth on 
the back of his hand, and, with a furtive glance at a 
nearby window, hurry across the yard toward the field. 
Drawing his team around quickly. Bill resumed his way 
to the field beyond, where the hay in long windrows 
awaited him. Halting his team there, he began to 
“bunch” the hay preparatory to “loading” it on the 
wagon, and was so engaged when Johnson came up. 

“ Goin’ to load er d’ye want me to ‘ bunch up,’ too ?” 
he called out to Bill. 

“ I want you,” returned BillHn angry tones, “ to drink 
water when ye say yer goin’ to, an’ let that cider alone !” 

“ Who’s bin drinkin’ cider ?” retorted Johnson. “ I 
ain’t bin drinkin’ none.” 

“ What d’ye want to say that fer ?” sang out Bill, stop- 
ping his work, his anger mounting, “ I know better, fer 
I see ye with my own eyes )” 


144 


KA^HERTNE BARRY. 


“ It’s a darned lie,” grumbled Johnson, quailing some- 
what before Bill’s fury, as he began pitchii_g the hay into 
a heap. 

Although uttered in a lower tone. Bill, watching him 
intently, heard what he said, and grasping his fork in 
both hands he rushed toward Johnson, exclaiming: 
“ Did you say I lied, ye lying nigger sneak you!” 

Johnson made no reply, but seizing his pitchfork a la 
musket-charge, as Bill came within reach, he made a tre- 
mendous lunge at him, driving both tines into his body 
with such force that, as Bill fell, Johnson’s weight on the 
fork, as the tines struck into the ground through Stevens’ 
body, broke the handle off in the middle, and he also 
went down almost on top of his victim. As the fork 
entered his body. Bill uttered a loud, piercing shriek 
that echoed over the fields. Springing to his feet, John- 
son jerked the fork from the prostrate form, and with 
alarm on his ashy face, looked toward the house, and then 
in a circle, scanning all around the fields, wholly disre- 
garding the dying groans of the man at his feet. Going 
quickly to the wagon, he sprang into it, and standing tip- 
toe on the highest part of the rack, again scanned with 
searching eyes first toward the house and then all over 
the fields in every direction. After looking and listen- 
ing for some moments, confidence displacing the alarm 
in his face, he leaped out of the wagon, and going over 
to the body, stooped down and looking at it a moment, 
shook it by the shoulder as he called in low but emphatic 
tones: “Bill! Bill! I say. Bill!” But there was no re- 
sponse, and as renewed alarm spread over his face, he 
mounted the wagon again and looked in all directions, 
and listened and looked again. Again jumping down 
from the wagon and going to the body, he stooped and 
opened the shirt-front to see where the wounds v/ere 


Katherine barry. 


145 


made, and put his hand in over the heart and felt here 
and there as if for its beating. As he withdrew his hand 
all bloody, he wiped it roughly on the grass, and picking 
up the broken fork, placed the fractured ends together 
in coaptation, studied them a few moments and then 
threw them in on the wagon bottom, and taking the fork 
from the hand of the man now dead, he pitched on a 
quantity of hay, covering the broken fork and filling one 
end of the hayrack. Then going to the body, he lifted 
it upon his shoulder and carrying it over to the wagon, 
placed it on top of the hay already pitched on. Then, 
after another search of the fields from the top of the rack, 
he pitched on more hay, filling higher the other end of 
the rack, and lifted the body again over on that, proceed- 
ing in that way till he had put on a full load of hay 
with the body lying on top of it all. Then he drove 
across the field, but not in the direction of the barn, to 
a “ bar- way ” in the fence, and through this across a 
field from which the hay had been taken the day before, 
and drew up in a secluded spot very close to the line 
fence between the Stevens and the Dunn farms. After 
a quick look from the top of the hay load in all direc- 
tions, he rolled the body to the edge of the load, and then 
pushed it off so that it fell into the berry bushes on the 
Dunn side of the fence. Sitting low in the hay, he then 
drove to the barn and in between the mows, quite satis- 
fied that he had not seen nor been seen by anybody. 
When he had unloaded the hay, he pried up a plank from 
the barn floor and threw in the broken fork. Observing 
blood stains on one of the bottom boards of the hayrack, 
he drew it out and secreted that also beneath the floor 
and readjusted the plank securely. Replacing the bot- 
tom board taken from the rack by another picked up 
near the fence outside, he drove back to the field and 


146 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


went on alone with drawing in the hay until '‘milking 
time,” when he put the horses in the stable, and going 
to the pasture across the road, brought the cows into 
the milking yard. Then he went in to supper, and to 
Mrs, Stevens’ inquiry as to where her husband was, 
he replied: “ He went over to th’ line fence to see Dunn 
’bout th’ commons, an’ I guess they’re havin’ ’nother 
row, fer I could hear ’em jawin’ clear over ’n th’ pasture.” 
This appeared so probable and sufficiently satisfactory 
to Mrs. Stevens, that she made no further comment nor 
inquiry ,*and, supper over, helped as usual with the milk- 
ing, wondering all the time why Bill should remain away 
so long. 

When the milking was done, she said to Johnson: “ I 
wish you’d go an’ see why Bill don’^ come.” 

“ All right,” returned Johnson. 

Leaving the house, he crossed the yard, and when be- 
yond the barn, looking around and seeing no one watch- 
ing him, he went directly across the fields to where the 
body lay, and, after leaning on the fence and looking at 
it a moment lying there in the bushes, he returned leis- 
urely till he passed the barn, when assuming an expres- 
sion of excitement, he ran through the yard to the house, 
exclaiming as Mrs. Stevens appeared in the doorway, 
“ Bill’s murdered; Dunn’s killed him!” 

At hearing this, Mrs. Stevens began to scream and 
wring her hands, crying out: “Where is he ? tell me 
where he is !” 

“ He’s over by th’ line fence,” said Johnson, his eyes 
dilating in well-feigned terror. 

Snatching her bonnet from a nail in the wall, she hur- 
ried into the yard, exclaiming: “My poor husband! 
show me where he is !” 

At this moment a passing team halted in the road, and 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


147 


one of the two occupants called out : “ What’s the matter, 
Mrs. Stevens ?” 

But Mrs. Stevens seeing them, only cried and screamed 
the louder, as she demanded again to be shown where 
her husband was. 

“ Bill’s been murdered,” shouted Johnson to the men 
in the buggy, upon which they both leaped out and, 
fastening the horse, came into the dooryard with faces 
aghast as they asked to be told more about it. 

“ I guess,” answered Johnson, “ Bill an’ Dunn’s had 
another row, an’ Dunn’s killed him.” 

Johnson leading the way, they all hastened to the spot 
where the body lay. After her first paroxysm of grief 
over it, Mrs. Stevens was led to one side and comforted 
by one of the farmers, while the other, with Johnson, 
examined the body. 

“Sure enough,” said the neighbor, “he’s bin shot: 
see where the bullets struck him, an’ went clean through 
an’ come out in his back!” 

“Yes sir,” said Johnson, “two holes; he was shot 
twice, wasn’t he ?” 

As they stepped out of the bushes, they looked toward 
the Dunn farmhouse and saw Frank, who had been at- 
tracted by the woman’s screaming, standing in the rear 
of his barn gazing toward them. 

“ There he is now,” said the man with Johnson, “ let’s 
call him over here,” whereupon he shouted and beckoned 
till Frank began to come toward them. 

As he drew near, the man said: “ This is a bad mat- 
ter, Frank, an’ I guess you’re in fer trouble.” 

“ How’s that ?” inquired Frank in astonishment, 
“ what’s this all about, anyway ?” 

“ I guess you know!” exclaimed Mrs. Stevens, empha- 


148 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


sizing the “ yon,” “ and yon’ll pay for it with yonr life 
— to murder my poor husband, you wicked, wicked man !” 

For a moment Frank could not find his tongue, and 
as he stood there with blanched face, those looking at his 
embarrassment saw, as they supposed, the consternation 
of guilt. 

“ Why, Mr. Tuttle,” said Frank at length, addressing 
more directly the one nearest him, “ what has happened 
here, anyway ?” 

“ Go and look in the bushes there,” the man answered, 
pointing with his finger, “ and you’ll see where he fell.” 

After a short look at the body, Frank returned with 
a look of horror transfixing his face as he asked : “ When 
did this happen, and how did it happen ?” 

“ Well, you’d ought to know,” answered Mr. Tuttle. 

“ I’d ought to know!” exclaimed Frank, “why, how 
would I know anything about it ?” 

“ Oh, we ain’t goin’ to hold the trial here now, but I 
guess in due time you’ll have a chance to tell all about it.” 

“ Why man, you’re crazy!” said Frank. 

“ Well, I rather think you’ll wish you were before you 
get through with this,” returned Mr. Tuttle. 

Seeing how determined they all were to charge him 
with what seemed an awful crime, nothing of which 
could he comprehend, and becoming consequently very 
much alarmed, he set off toward the house without an- 
other word. 

When he had gone, Johnson said, with a gleam of tri- 
umphant satisfaction in his eyes: “He looked scart, 
didn’t he ?” 

“Yes,” answered Mr. Tuttle, “he’s scared enough, 
although he pretends not to know anything about it.” 

To Mrs. Stevens’ urgent appeals that the body be 
taken to the house, the two men objected, that it should 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


149 


remain where it was till seen by the coroner, but she 
would listen to nothing of the sort, and ordered Johnson 
to “ hitch up the spring wagon ” and bring it over as 
quickly as he could. When it arrived, the body was 
laid in it and conveyed to the house, where, assisted by 
the two neighbors, Mrs. Stevens sat by it, while Johnson 
set oif in the night to inform the neighborhood and to 
bring the coronor. 


CHAPTER XVIIL 


As Frank entered the house with terror and excite- 
ment in his face and manner, his sister Mary exclaimed ; 
“ Why Frank! what’s the matter ?” 

Making no reply, he passed into the sitting-room where 
his mother was unravelling old woolen socks and wind- 
ing the yarn into a ball. With his hat pushed back 
on his head, he sat down opposite the old woman, and 
as she stopped her work, upon seeing him closer, with 
inquiry upon her lips, he said: “Well, mother, some- 
thing terrible has happened, and I’m afraid I’m going to 
get into trouble.” 

Mary, who had followed to the door, upon hearing 
him say that, came into the room and dropped into a 
chair as the old woman, pushing her spectacles up over 
her forehead, asked with sympathetic anxiety in her 
voice: “ Why Frank, avick, fwhat is it ?” 

“ A little while ago,” began Frank, sitting on the edge 
of his chair, with his hands on his knees, ” I heard 
screams away over in the lots, and I went across the 
road and out behind the far barn, and from there I could 
see people away down by the line fence acting as if 
something was the matter. So I went down to where 
they were, and there I saw Bill Stevens lying dead by 
the fence in the bushes, and Mrs. Stevens there taking 
on, and Johnson and Mr. Tuttle and Alf. Bingham.” 
At this, both women clasped their hands in horrified 
astonishment, with pious exclamations of invocation for 
protection. Frank continued: “When I tried to talk 
with them about it, why,” said Frank, lifting both hands 
[1 50] 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


15I 

Into the air, “they acted as if I had killed the man!’' 
Here again exclamations of horror escaped the women, 
and Mary, leaving her seat, went over and stood by her 
mother’s chair, facing Frank. “ Now,” he continued, 
“ this is going to make an awful excitement and lots of 
trouble, and I feel just like going off somewhere to keep 
out of it till it is all cleared up, for God knows, I don’t 
know a thing about it.” 

“ No, no, Frank,” said his mother, shaking her head, 
the tears coming into her eyes, “ don’t think o’ that, 
shtan yer groun me son; they can’t touch ye, let them 
do theyre besht.” 

“ How was he killed ?” asked Mary. 

“I couldn’t find out,” answered Frank, “the only 
answer they’d give me was that they guessed I knew all 
about it! It’s awful!” said Frank, almost to himself, 
as he wiped his forehead with his handkerchief. Ad- 
dressing his mother and sister again, he went on : “ The 
worst of it is, everybody knows we’ve had words several 
times, and considerable trouble about the line fence, 
and a good many of the neighbors have taken his side, 
because he talks a good deal and tells the story his own 
way. Now, they’ll be ready to believe anything they 
hear about me in this affair, so that if I stay, I don’t 
see anything but trouble and expense to clear myself.” 

At this the old woman gave way to her tears, and 
Mary, after a few words to comfort her, asked: “ Would 
ye be gone fer long, Frank ?” 

“ Oh, no,” he answered, rising from his chair, and 
walking nervously up and down the room, “ not long, 
for they are going to clear this matter up right away, 
you may be sure, and then. I’ll come back and escape 
all this trouble and suspicion — why,” stopping and com- 
ing round in front of the two women, “ with the way 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


152 

they talked to iiie and the way they’re going to now, I’d 
be ashamed to meet anybody in the road!” 

Notwithstanding the repeated protests of his mother, 
Frank, assisted by Mary’s uncertainty as to what to say, 
finally persuaded the old woman that his temporary ab- 
sence would save them all much annoyance and trouble, 
and began at once to make ready. 

“ I’ll tell David,” he said, as he hung up his straw hat 
and began unbuttoning his blouse, “ to get one of the 
Leonard boys to help finish the haying, and I’ll be back 
in time for harvesting.” 

“ Where’d ye think ye’ll go ?” asked Mary, dusting 
with her apron a large, old-fashioned hand bag that had 
seen service only twice before in twelve years. 

“ I’m going to have David drive me down to High 
Falls this evening, and from there Uncle Peter ’ll carry 
me over to-morrow to cousin Tom’s in Rockland County^ 
If you write, you’d better direct it to Uncle Peter, 
and I’ll tell him to put it in another envelope and 
send it to cousin Tom.” 

Supper was delayed till every detail of preparation 
had been made, 'and the horses harnessed all ready for 
the journey. Soon after dark, v/agons began to pass in 
unusual frequency up and down the road, going to and 
returning from the Stevens house. Frank went to the 
front window of the sitting-room twice, and after look- 
ing out cautiously, returned each time saying that the 
people passing looked at the house “as if to see ghpsts 
in it ” as they went by, and he became more and more 
nervous and impatient to get away. “ Let them,” he 
said to his mother, sitting in her old rocking-chair, weep- 
ing and imploring heaven to “ direct him to fwhat was 
besht,” “ find out without dragging us into it, how this 
happened and who did it, as you may be very sure they 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


153 


will mighty quick, and then I’ll be back perhaps, within 
a few days or a week. If I’m here, why, the way matters 
stand. I’ll be hauled into it right off, and then I’d have 
to bear the disgrace of it, and clear myself before they’d 
take the thought or the trouble to look after the one that 
did it. If they can’t satisfy themselves on me, they’ll 
be more likely to get on the right track at once and the 
whole thing’ll be straightened out right away.” 

There was one other argument of greatest influence 
which Frank kept to himself, but which had most to do 
in determining him in the course he was about to take. 
John Harmon, on several occasions, had shown his dis- 
like for Frank, not only in his personal demeanor, but 
also in a business way as counsel for Bill Stevens, and 
by lending his political influence in opposition to Frank’s 
candidacy for the supervisorship. More recently, as a 
matter of fact since Kate’s refusal, of which Frank was 
in total ignorance, John Harmon had gone out of his 
way, as Frank looked at it, to cause him trouble, and his 
personal dislike seemed to be greater than ever. As 
district attorney now, Frank knew that the occasion 
favored him with an opportunity in which there was 
nothing to expect but all the trouble the circumstance 
would warrant from one who hated him as a jealous 
rival. The satisfaction which he believed John Harmon 
would enjoy in being qualified by his office and the pres- 
ent unexpected circumstances, to proceed publicly and 
without reserve to harrass and humiliate him, was what 
he particularly wished to escape from and to deny him. 

About ten o’clock, Frank took leave of his weeping 
mother and sister, and accompanied by David, drove 
rapidly away to High Falls, with a strange half sense of 
being a fugitive from the officers of the law. As they 
went on, the night grew darker, and as the lights went 


154 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


out in the farm houses along the road, with a growing 
sense of relief and security Frank began to talk more 
freely to David. “ When you go back/’ he said to him, 
“ take the other road across the river and go on up to 
Plainfield and call at the post office — it’ll probably be 
nine o’clock by the time you get there to-morrow. Then 
get the new handrake I told you to, and a sack of dairy 
salt and then go on home. If anybody asks where I am, 
you tell them I had to go to High Falls, but that I’ll be 
back in a few days.” 

The rattle of Frank’s carriage wheels had scarcely 
died in the distance, when two men in a buggy drove 
up to the house. Mary saw them through the window, 
and with a feeling of alarm stood in the middle of the 
floor awaiting their coming. When they knocked, she 
smoothed down her hair with her hands and clearing 
her throat went to the door. 

“ Is Frank in ?” asked one of the men. 

“ No, he isn’t,” said Mary. 

“ Where is he ?” again asked the man. 

“ I don’t just know,” she answered. 

“ Well,” asked the man, “ how soon’ll he be back ?” 

“ I couldn’t say,” said Mary, shaking her head. 

After a pause, in which the men looked at each other, 
the one making the inquiries said: “ If you think he’ll 
be back in an hour, we’ll go in and wait for him.” 

“Well ye needn’t,” returned Mary, “ fer he may be 
back to-night, an’ he may not till to-morrow.” 

At this, the men looked at each other again, and after 
a moment the speaker said: “Well, we’ll call again,” 
and turning from the door, they went toward the buggy. 

As Mary, after locking the door, turned toward her 
mother, the old woman asked: “ Fwhat did they want ?” 

“ They wanted to see Frank,” answered Mary, as she 


KATHERINE BARRY. 1 55 

drew down the window-shade near the table at which 
her mother was sitting. 

“ Who were they ?” again asked the old woman. 

“ I don’t know,” said Mary, seating herself opposite 
her mother, “ but I’m sure I’ve seen one o’ them about 
Plainfield.” 

An hour later, as they were preparing to retire, they 
were startled by a knock again at the door. Hastily put- 
ting on a wrapper, Mary went into the sitting-room, and 
standing near the door without opening it, called out : 
“ Who is it ?” 

“ Well,” came from the outside, “ I was here a little 
while ago — has Frank got back yet ?” 

“ No, he hasn’t,” curtly returned Mary. 

Then there was a long silence, so long that Mary, 
thinking they had gone, was about to return to her 
mother, when the man outside said: “All right, we 
won’t disturb you again to-night,” and listening, she 
heard them drive away in the direction of the Stevens 
house 

The next morning, while Mary was in the barn-yard 
milking, the same man who had called at the door the 
evening before, came upon her so suddenly and so 
stealthily that he seemed to have come up out of the 
ground. To his renewed inquiries for Frank, she an- 
swered much as she did the night before. After 
standing about for awhile, he went away, but came into 
the yard again as the milking was finished and, walking 
about among the cows, disappeared this time without 
saying anything. 

Later, when David drove up to the house about ten 
o’clock, he had hardly halted the horses before two men 
came up to him from somewhere about the house, and 
two others approached from the barn. 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


156 

“ Where’s Frank ?” asked one. 

“ He’s in High Falls,” answered David. 

“ When’s he coming home ?” he continued, 

“ In a day or two,” David answered, “ at least, that’s 
what he told me.” 

“Well,” said the man, drawing a paper from his im 
side coat pocket and handing it to David, “ you are sub- 
poenaed as a witness at the coroner’s inquest,” looking 
at his watch, “ immediately at Mr. Stevens’ house. 
You’d better drive right on up there, or you’ll be late.” 

David jumped out of the wagon and going to the door, 
explained to Mary what she had been watching from the 
window, and then drove over to the Stevens house. 

There he found a great crowd gathered from alb the 
country round, and the coroner’s jury ready to begin its 
work. David was the first witness. 

Question: “ How long have you been in Mr. Dunn’s 
employ ?” 

Answer: “ Nearly five years.” 

“ Did you ever have any trouble with Dunn ?” 

“ No, sir.” 

“ Isn’t he a man of pretty quick temper ?” 

“ Not any worse than people average, I should say.” 

“ Has Dunn got a gun ?” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ What kind of a gun is it ?” 

“ Shot gun.” 

“ Did he go hunting sometimes ?” 

“ Yes, once in a while.” 

“ What kind of shot did he use ?” 

“ Common shot.” 

“ Didn’t he use buckshot sometimes ?” 

“ Maybe he did, I don’t know/’ 

“ Did he own a pistol ?” 

“ Not that I know of.’* 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


157 


“ Were you with Dunn yesterday ?” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ How much of the time ?” 

“ All day, ’cept when I went after the cows.** 

“ What were you doing ?” 

“ Cuttin’ grass and drawin’ in hay.” 

“ Do you know where Dunn is now ?” 

“Yes, he’s in High Falls.” 

“ When did he go there ?” 

“ Last night.” 

“ Do you know why he went away ?*’ 

“ No, sir.” 

“ When is he coming back ?” 

“ He said he’d be back in a few days.” 

After some questioning to draw out what David knew 
of the disagreements and ill-feeling between Frank and 
Stevens, he was released. 

The coronor was an old-time country doctor whose 
medical knowledge was entirely a matter of experience, 
and whose performances in surgery rarely went beyond 
lancing gums in teething babies, and the occasional 
pricking of a felon. After an adjournment to visit the 
spot where the body was found, the examination of 
Johnson was taken up, who swore that Dunn and Stevens 
were in angry altercation at the line fence when he 
drove to the barn with the last load of hay, and that a 
little later he heard a gun discharged twice in the direc- 
tion of the place where he later discovered the body. 
All of this, and other adjuvating testimony together with 
the fact that Frank had evidently fled the country, was 
so conclusive that a verdict was promptly found, viz: 
that Bill Stevens came to his death by being shot through 
the body by a firearm in the hands of Frank Dunn. 
On this finding, a warrant was issued for Frank’s arrest, 
and put into the hands of the sheriff at High Falls* 


CHAPTER XIX. 


The report of Bill Stevens’ murder, as it spread over 
the countryside, was most exciting to a people unaccus- 
tomed to the tragic incidents of life, and of most astound- 
ing interest because of the connection with it of Frank 
Dunn’s name. Wherever known, and the circle of his 
acquaintance was large, Frank theretofore had been re- 
garded generally as a model young man, one of the pros- 
perous and promising farmers of the county, whose repu- 
tation had been of the best and whose character among 
the highest. In the small circle of Bill Stevens’ friends 
his good name had suffered somewhat, but even among 
these. Bill’s influence and their friendship for him had 
not been sufficient to blind them wholly to the fact that 
Frank stood high in the esteem of the best people of the 
county. In the smaller circle where he was known in- 
timately, it was admitted that, tqider great provocation, 
he was inclined to lose control of his temper, and this 
knowledge, now, had much to do, as far as it went, in 
depressing the hopes of his friends that future events 
might establish his innocence. 

At mass on the following Sunday, Father Logan made 
very marked, though indirect allusion to Frank in his 
talk to the people. 

‘‘Whin I was cornin’ to this counthry,” he said, “ I 
thought I was cornin’ to do mission work among people 
who had become indifferent to their faith in a strange 
land, but whin I got here,” smiling broadly, as over a 
joke, “ I found thim all missionaries ! I found some that 
were even betther than the priest himself, in their zeal, 
[158] 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


159 


But,” he went on, becoming fiercely serious and nodding 
his head first at one side of the congregation and then 
at the other, “ look out for the people that are too good, 
look out for thim! for they are like sheep in wolves’ 
clothing, and they’ll bring shame and disgrace to ye 
sooner or later!” 

As he went on in this way, the eyes of half the con- 
gregation were turned toward Mrs. Dunn and Mary, 
who sat shrinking into the corner of their pew with heads 
bowed in weeping and confusion. So overwhelmed was 
the old woman by this unlooked for humiliation that^ 
after church, she was unable to reach her carriage with- 
out assistance, and upon arriving at home was utterly 
prostrated and took to her bed. In a day or two a latent 
kidney affection developed serious proportions, and the 
doctor who was called, recognizing the gravity of the 
condition, said that at best she woiild be a long time in 
recovering, even if such issue be the ultimate outcome. 

The report of the disaster to Frank’s good name awak- 
ened no greater sympathy and sorrow anywhere than 
it did in the Barry household, wnere it was grieved over 
as sincerely as though it were an affair of their own. 
For many years the old people had held each other in 
closest bonds of disinterested friendship, and the chil- 
dren of both families had grown up regarding each other 
more with the affection of relationship than as mere 
friends. Since her last meeting with Mr. Harmon, Kate 
had been noticeably serious and quiet in her manner, 
not evidently in consequence of being depressed or 
downcast, so much as the result of a kind of spiritual 
resignation. But in the days following Frank’s flight 
from the country she became silent, dejected and sought 
to sit alone by herself in a sort of idle revery so unlike 
her former self that her parents, although regarding it 


i6o 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


as due to her sympathy for the Dunns and for Frank 
in particular, were made anxious by the changes wrought 
in her appearance. Their expectation that her depres- 
sion would wear away in a few weeks was not realized 
as time went on, for, if anything, she became more re- 
served, and withdrew more to herself_, spending a great 
deal of her time in reading religious books and in devo- 
tions before a little altar she had tastefully arranged in 
her bedroom. 

One October afternoon, as she sat with her mother 
tying up flower seeds into little packets and carefully 
labelling them, she said, after a long silence not unusual 
in her recent manner : “ Mother dear, I shall not be here 
to plant these seeds nor to watch their flowers bloom.” 

“ Arrah, Katherine, asthore, fwhat makes ye say that ?’* 
asked her mother in tones of deepest affection, as she 
emptied a dish of hulls and pods into the basket at her 
side. 

“ Because,” answered Kate without looking up from 
her work, “ I’m going to a convent to be a nun.” 

Her mother continued her work in silence a few mo- 
ments in a sort of half blind way, and then, placing the 
dish on the table, she put her apron to her eyes and 
leaning back in her chair began to weep. At this Kate 
dropped her work,and falling on her knees at her mother’s 
side she put her arms about her neck and said, in a 
voice full of tender est affection: “Don’t cry, mother; 
you should be glad to have me go where my life will be 
spent in holiness and good work, away from the sin 
and snares and deception of this world.” But this only 
increased her mother’s emotion, seeing which, Kate ran 
upstairs and returned in a moment shaking out of its 
folds a clean handkerchief. Putting her arm around 
her mother’s head, she drew the face upward and kiss- 


KAWERINE BARRY. 


l6l 

ing it, wiped the tears away, and then kissing it again, 
said: “There now, be my dear, good mother, as you 
have always been and look on this as God’s will and all 
for the best.” 

“ I know, acushla,” said her mother, “but how can 
I ever let you go ?” weeping afresh into the handker- 
chief Kate had placed in her hands. 

“ Now, mother,” said Kate, kneeling again at her side 
and putting her arm around her, “ if I were to marry 
you would be pleased, wouldn’t you, and have to part 
with me, don’t you know ?” looking into her face with 
a little smile, “ then why should you grieve if I go to a 
life of devotion to God, some day to become a bride of 
Christ ?” 

After a few moments her mother, wiping her eyes, 
said: “ I know, mavourneen, it’s proud an’ happy I 
ought to be, an’ I will be whin I have a little time to 
think of it.” 

“ That’s a dear good mother,” said Kate, kissing her, 
“ I had no fears for you, but I wonder what father will 
say! You talk to him to-night about it when you are 
alone together and tell me in the morning what he says.” 

But she had not to wait upon hearing from her mother, 
for, upon going downstairs next morning, she met her 
father who, after looking at her in silence a moment, 
caught her in his arms and kissed her while tears over- 
flowed upon his cheeks. This was so extraordinary in 
him, not at all demonstrative in his affection, that Kate 
was quite overcome by it, and sinking into a chair, 
buried her face in her handkerchief as the old man 
seized his hat and hurried out to the stable. 

The decision thus made known to her parents had 
formed in Kate’s mind in the week following Frank’s 
disappearance. The termination of her pleasing rela- 


1 62 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


tions with John Harmon, although a great trial to her, 
had nevertheless been borne with a certain degree cf 
resignation because she found solace in the thought that, 
by that act, she had made such sacrifice for her religion 
as her pious soul commended. The world still seemed 
full of promise to her, and without determining how 
or why, she felt assurance in her heart of coming success 
and happiness. When calamity, however, fell upon 
the good name of Frank Dunn, she was overwhelmed 
by a sense of bereavement and a most absolute loss of 
confidence. In a most unexpected way the light faded 
out of her future, and the darkening prospect turned 
her pious soul to increased devotions and these to as- 
pirations to quit the world altogether. She would go 
to a convent somewhere and seek to be a nun. But 
where, she did not know, nor how. With her new pur- 
pose yet a secret, she had gone to Father Logan, un- 
known to her parents, and sought of him such advice and 
information as would direct her in taking the first steps 
toward this change in her life which her heart and soul 
were now set upon. When the priest learned of her 
intention, he appeared strangely indifferent, and was 
inclined to laugh at her as she fervidly asserted her 
desire to leave the world and devote her life specially 
to God’s service. However, as the result of her per- 
sistence, he became at length sufficiently serious to 
write for her a letter of introduction to the Mother 
Superior of the Convent of Our Lady of Hope at Marine 
City, four hundred miles distant. As he handed it to 
her, he said: “Whin yer goin’ I’d advise ye to get a 
round thrip ticket, fer I’ll wager ye’ll be back within a. 
fortnight.” 

Having secured the letter, Kate became most desirous 
of setting off at once, but there was yet the consent of 


Katherine barry. 


163 

her parents to be obtained. For four or five days she 
had watched for the opportunity and the courage to 
make known her decision to her mother, and to temper 
the grief she anticipated and probable opposition into 
consent. At various times, during those days, when 
the opportunity was at hand her courage failed, and 
again when her resolve was made the circumstances 
were unfavorable. Having at length, however, as we 
have seen, made her purpose known to them, and hav- 
ing subsequently removed by gentle, pious entreaty 
every obstacle suggested by their wish to keep her with 
them, preparations for her departure were soon com- 
pleted, and within ten days from her visit to the priest, 
she was within the walls of the convent. 

On the day Kate left home the report went abroad 
that Mrs. Dunn was dead. The doctor said her death 
was caused by kidney affection; the people, that she 
had died of a broken heart. A telegram notifying Frank 
was sent away at once over the route followed by the 
letters, and his course left to his own choosing. On his 
cousin’s farm, sequestered among the hills of far away 
Rockland County, he had remained all these weeks un- 
discovered by the officers of the law, who had searched 
for him diligently in every place where it was suspected 
he might be in hiding. From week to week he had 
hoped for word from home that would inform him of 
the detection of the guilty person and thereby a clearing 
of the way to his honorable return. When, instead, the 
information of his mother’s death reached him, he was 
beside himself with grief, and becoming desperate, he 
determined to start for home immediately, regardless, 
of consequences. Arriving at High Falls at midnight, 
he besought his uncle to take him to his home that night 
without delay, so that he might look on his dead mother’s 


KAtH£RlN£ BaRRV. 


164. 


face before encountering the officers. Accordingly, 
they set off at once, and as they were approaching the 
old home in the gray dawn of early morning, they met 
Father Logan returning from a hurried call in the night 
to administer spiritual consolation to Mary who, worn 
out in attendance upon her mother and prostrated by 
her death, was thought to be dying by those about her. 
As the vehicles passed in the road, the priest gave Frank 
a frigid look of surprise, and drove on without return- 
ing the salutation Frank gave him. 

Upon reaching Plainfield, the priest drove at once to 
the telegraph office, and sent a despatch to the sheriff 
at High Falls informing him of Frank’s arrival home, 
and suggesting that he or an officer should come on and 
arrest him without loss of time. “ I guess the people ’ll 
know now that I am no part or partner of Frank Dunn 
and his pretinses, even if they have seen us together 
so much,” said he to himself. 

About noon that day, Frank was called into another 
room from his seat at the side of his mother’s coffin, 
and placed under arrest by the sheriff, who had just 
arrived. At Frank’s request, the officer kindly con- 
sented to delay return until the next day, in order to 
permit him to be present at his mother’s funeral. That 
sad ceremony completed, he was taken to High Falls, 
where the formal proceedings were gone through with, 
and he was locked up to await trial in the month ensuing. 


CHAPTER XX. 


In the week following Frank’s arrest, Mrs. Stevens 
engaged Alf. Bingham, who was a sort of farmer car- 
penter, to shingle the north side of her barn, a job which 
Bill had made provision for the winter previous by hav- 
ing the shingles made and stacked near the barn to sea- 
son during the summer, or until after haying and har- 
vesting, when in the interim between cutting grain and 
the digging of potatoes he would find time to have them 
put on. Johnson, whom Mrs. Stevens continued in her 
employ, and whom the neighbors said was “actually 
makin’ up to the widder,” assisted Bingham at the work 
in the way of putting up staging, ripping off the old 
shingles and carrying up the new. 

When the shingles had been “ laid ” well up toward 
the ridge, and Bingham was at work one afternoon fit- 
ting some new pieces about the base of the ventilator 
before bringing the new shingles up to it, his square 
dropped through the opening and fell toward the barn 
floor below. It so happened that at the time Johnson 
was for the moment absent and Bingham, descending 
the ladder, went in on the barn floor to recover the 
square. To his surprise, he failed to find it and, after 
looking about a few minutes and ranging with his eye 
the direction it took from the opening in the peak of 
the roof, he saw, upon looking closer, that it had struck 
between two of the planks and gone down through the 
floor. Seizing a crowbar, he pried up the planks and, 
as the space below was dark and not at once perceiving 
the missing tool, he threw the planks farther to one 

[165] 


KATHERINE BARRY 


1 66 

side and stepping into the opening thus made clearer, 
saw the square lying there and beside it a broken pitch- 
fork. Recovering his square, he picked up the pitch- 
fork and was turning it over in his hands looking at it 
just as Johnson came into the barn. As Bingham looked 
up, he was surprised to see Johnson halt abruptly with 
a look of alarm spreading over his face and then, turn- 
ing about without a word, hurry away out of the barn. 
Bingham stepped up out of the opening to the floor, and 
with the broken fork in his hand went to the door to 
learn where Johnson had gone in such a hurry. Not 
seeing him, he again looked at the fork and in the better 
light saw, unmistakably, blood stains upon it, and in 
two or three places near where the break occurred, the 
imprint of bloody Angers. This, although so extraor- 
dinary, suggested nothing, it simply excited his curi- 
osity as he glanced about the yard to inquire of Johnson 
what it meant. Sticking the broken fork into the side 
of the haymow, he went back to replace the floor planks, 
but before doing so, looked in again and saw lying there 
the other half of the broken handle, and near by a bot- 
tom board of a hayrack. Picking up the piece of handle, 
he saw that it also bore the marks of bloody Angers, 
and as he looked in again more carefully in his increas- 
ing curiosity, he saw what looked like the stain of a 
pool of blood dried into the board. Drawing it out, he 
saw plainly that the blotch upon it was made by blood, 
and slowly it began to dawn upon him that this was in 
some way connected with Bill Stevens’ murder. Was 
he shot while in the wagon ? Hardly, for how came the 
body to be found across the fence on Dunn’s land. Be- 
sides, he recalled that Johnson left Stevens at the line 
fence in a dispute with Dunn, and drove with his load 
of hay to the barn. Why were these things secreted, 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


167 


anyway! It was strange, and the more he thought of 
it, the more his interest and curiosity grew. When 
Johnson came around he would ask about it, and so 
thinking, he laid the board along the floor at one side, 
and after replacing the planks, went up to his work at 
the ventilator. 

When he quit work that evening at “ chore time,” 
not having yet seen Johnson about, he went to the house 
and asked Mrs. Stevens if she knew where he was. 

“ Why no,” said she, “ he came in a while ago in a 
kind of hurry and got his rifle and went on the run 
over across the pasture. I thought likely he was after 
something.” 

Bingham said nothing about his discovery, but as he 
crossed the fields to his own house, his mind was busy 
guessing some probable connection between the blood 
stained fork and the shooting of Bill Stevens, and to 
account for its being hidden away under the floor. 

When he returned to work the next morning, every- 
thing was just as when he left the evening before. There 
was the broken fork sticking in the haymow, and there 
the piece of handle and the bottom board with its ugly 
blood stain on the floor. To his inquiries at the house, 
Mrs. Stevens replied that she had seen nothing of John- 
son since he ran across the pasture with his rifle under 
his arm the day before, and she was quite “put out ’’ 
by his sudden going off and leaving her to do all the 
milking and other chores alone. 

While at work upon the roof some time later, not 
busier with his hands than with his thoughts, now stim- 
ulated anew by Johnson’s long absence, George Baldwin, 
a butcher of Plainfield and one of Frank’s fast friends, 
drove up and, coming into the barnyard called out to 
Bingham on the roof, asking for Johnson’s whereabouts. 


i68 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


“ I came up after a fat critter I bought of him last 
week, en ’Id like to see him,” he said. 

Bingham came down the ladder, and with his mind 
filled with what he had thus far failed to unravel and 
had not, for want of opportunity, spoken of to anyone, he 
showed the fork and bottom board to Baldwin, explain- 
ing how and where he found them. 

“You say,” asked Baldwin after carefully examining 
them, “ that Johnson cleared out when he saw ye pickin’ 
these things up ?” 

“Yes,” answered Bingham, “and he hasn’t turned 
up yit.” 

After another scrutiny of the stained board and the 
fork, Baldwin turned to Bingham as he said, with a tri- 
umphant ring of confidence in his voice: “ You’ve made 
a discovery thet’s of bigger ’mportance then you’ve eny 
idee, now mark what I tell ye.” 

“ How so ?” asked Bingham in an amazed sort of way. 

“Well sir. I’ll tell ye right now that I b’lieve Bill 
Stevens was killed with that thare fork,” pointing at it 
very vigorously, “ an’ thet Johnson’s th’ man thet did it !” 

“You don’t think so!” said Bingham in tones of won- 
der, as he turned about to look, in this new light, at the 
fork and the wagon board. 

“ Thet’s what I do,” asserted Baldwin very decidedly, 
“he was never shot by Frank Dunn nor by enybody 
else, he was stabbed with that fork, and if Coronor 
Fink knew enything, he’d a known th’ difference be- 
tween holes made by bullets and holes made by a pitch- 
fork!” 

Jumping into his wagon, Baldwin drove away at a 
rapid pace toward Plainfield, stopping as he reached the 
Dunn farm long enough to tell Mary of what . he had 
just seen and heard at Stevens’, and gladdening her 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


169 


heart with the assurance that within forty-eight hours 
the crime with which Frank was charged would be 
“put where it belongs.” Spreading the news of the 
discovery about the village, Baldwin stirred up great 
reawakened interest in the affair, and readily gathering 
together a party of five, including the constable, no time 
was lost in hastening back to the Stevens farm. There 
they found that Bingham had meantime told Mrs. 
Stevens of Baldwin’s suspicion and they were conse- 
quently met by her protest and opposition in any propo- 
sition to charge the murder of her husband to Johnson, 
who had been “so good and faithful and thought so 
much of Bill.” 

“ All right,” said Baldwin, “ come on boys ! let’s find 
him enyway; he’s missin’, and somebody’s got ter look 
him up.” 

Leaving one of the party in charge of the team, they 
started off across the pasture in the direction taken by 
Johnson, toward the woods at the far end. Reaching 
the timber, they spread out so as to make a wide sweep, 
and then pushed on through the woods, over logs and 
through underbrush, for some distance, then up a sharp 
bluff to a sort of plateau where there was an extensive 
“sugar bush” of fine old maples. Sweeping through 
this, they halted at the sugar-house where they found 
indications that gave them confidence of being on John- 
son’s trail. The door had been forced open, there were 
traces of a recent fire in which corn and potatoes had 
been roasted, and more conclusive still, a fragment of 
the Farmer, bearing date of the Saturday preceding. 

“I’m satisfied, boys,” said Baldwin, “that Johnson 
staid here last night, and I’m of the ’pinion thet he’s 
makin’ fer ’nother sugar-house ter stay in to-night. If 
he’s pintiu’ fer th’ railroad, an’ I think he is, he’ll keep 


170 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


right on over Hunt’s hill and — lemme see,” after a 
moment’s thought, “ he’ll prob’ly fetch up somewhere 
about Sabins’ to-night. If he’s makin’ fer Oakdale, 
where his folks live, he’ll cut out o’ th’ woods somewhere 
near th’ covered bridge ter go ’cross. Davis, you go 
back an’ bring th’ team round to White’s store where 
we’ll meet ye, an’ then we’ll go on down to purty clus 
to Sabins’ afore we strike fer th’ woods agin.” 

As they went on after Davis had left them, Baldwin 
said: “I’d give good money fer a bloodhound now, 
but seein’ thar aint eny, we’ve got to do our own smellin’ 
an’ keep ter this trail, seein’ we’re on to it.” 

It was nearly sundown when they reached Sabins’^ 
where they left the horses to be fed, and, after procur- 
ing supper and providing themselves with a lantern, 
which they carried unlighted, they set off on foot toward 
the hills again, along a wood-road or trail that wound 
its way through the fields and along the hillside to a 
sugar bush something over a mile distant. When they 
had reached the edge of the woods near the top of the 
hill, it was already growing dark, and after a short con- 
ference it was decided to go into the timber slowly and 
quietly in “ Indian file ” straight toward the sugar- 
house till within three or four hundred feet of it, and 
then to form a circle around it and close in. When the 
head of the little line arrived in range with the sugar- 
house, a speck of light was seen like a star lost in the 
woods, and, notwithstanding that their plans and move- 
ments had all been made in expectation of overtaking 
Johnson at this place, they were thrown into as great 
excitement, upon seeing the light as if they had come 
upon him unexpectedly. 

“ Now boys,” said Baldwin in low tones, halting the 
ipen as they came up, we’ve got ter perceecj agcordin’ 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


i;3 

to som systim, an’ th’ fust thing fer us to hnd out after 
surroundin’ is whether it’s Johnson in there or some 
tramp. Soon’s you git round th’ house, I’ll sneak up to 
th’ winder an’ git a peek at him afore we say a word, 
fer if it’s Johnson, he’s got a gun with him, ye know, 
an’ he may get ugly an’ show fight.” 

The windows of the sugar-house had all been boarded 
up at the close of the sugar season except one, and over 
this, something had been hung on the inside, so cover- 
ing it that no light escaped from the interior except at 
one point near a lower corner, where a small area of 
uncovered glass allowed the speck of light they had 
seen to show through. 

When the men had arranged themselves about the 
place, Baldwin crept up cautiously, and peeking through 
the bit of uncovered glass, saw Johnson sitting inside, 
in his shirt sleeves and barefooted, apparently nursing 
a sore foot. So helpless and harmless did the fellow 
appear, that Baldwin went directly to the door and 
knocking boldly, paused for an answer. None coming, 
he knocked again, and, after a pause, again much 
louder, as he called out: “ Open up, Johnson, we know 
yer here!” Still there was no reply and no sound 
whatever from the inside. Calling two of the men near- 
est to come to his aid, Baldwin again called out : “ Open 
this door or we’ll break it in 1” Receiving no reply, they 
all put their shoulders to the door and began to force it, 
when a shot rang out from the inside and one of the 
men, falling back from the door, cried out : “ I’m shot !” 
Retiring promptly to a safe distance, they found that 
the bullet had passed through the flesh above the elbow 
at the outer side of the arm with seemingly no injury to 
the bone or blood vessels, and after binding it up with 
a handkerchief, Baldwin took the only rifle in the party, 


1/2 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


and with the constable, who had a revolver, and one 
of the men who carried a shot-gnn loaded Vvdth buck- 
shot, he advanced to within about fifty feet, and with- 
out warning-, they fired a volley through the door. This 
was immediately answered by three or four shots from 
the inside in quick succession, all going wild, however. 
Again Baldwin called out: “One more chance to sur- 
render er well fire agin!” Receiving no answer, the 
rifle, shot-gun and revolver were emptied again, this 
time toward the window, the report being immediately 
followed by a falling sound within and low groaning. 

“ Thare, boys!” exclaimed Baldwin as, followed by 
the others, he ran to the sugar-house, “ I guess we’ve got 
him!” Looking in through the shattered window, he 
saw part of an outstretched arm on the floor, and calling 
the others to his help, he forced the door open. There 
upon the floor lay Johnson, shot through the right 
breast, groaning and coughing up quantities of frothy 
blood. Lifting him to a table, they saw that his wound 
was so serious they knew not how to proceed with even 
temporary dressing nor what to do for him, and, there- 
fore, two of the men were sent to bring up the team 
with all haste. 

Standing about the wounded man, there was no look 
of triumph in any face nor a word of exultation. 

“ I’m sorry fer this, Johnson,” said Baldwin, “ why 
did you shoot, why didn’t you open the door ?” 

But Johnson’s answer was»a cough bringing up more 
of the bloody froth. 

“ Can’t you talk ?” asked the constable, bending over 
him, but he only stared in return as he labored to 
breathe. 

“ Don’t you know you’re going to die ?” again asked 
the constable, 


KATHERINE BARRY. 1 73 

Johnson turned his head to one side and groaned pite- 
ously. 

Baldwin and the constable withdrew to one side and, 
after a few words, the constable took from his pocket a 
memorandum book and pencil, and returning to the 
table, Baldwin said: “ Say, Johnson, don’t yer know yer 
goin’ ter die ?” 

Johnson looked into Baldwin’s face a moment with 
staring eyes and then nodded his head. 

The constable noted this down in his book. 

“ Is ther enything yer want ter say ?” asked Baldwin. 

Johnson’s look indicated that there was, but coughing 
again, he made no answer. 

“ Do you know enything ’bout that fork found under 
th’ barn ?” Baldwin asked, but Johnson, closing his eyes 
and breathing with difficulty, made no reply. 

After watching him in silence for some moments, and 
seeing that his breathing was becoming rapidly more 
difficult and accompanied by loud rattles, Baldwin, plac- 
ing his hand on Johnson’s brow and bending over him, 
said: “ Now Johnson, yer dyin — make a clean breast of 
it, did you kill Stevens ?” 

Johnson nodded his head. 

As the men looked at each other, the constable re- 
sumed his writing. 

“ Did ye do it with the fork ?” asked Baldwin. 

Again Johnson nodded. 

“ An’ did you put him across the fence where he was 
found ?” continued Baldwin. 

Johnson nodded. 

“ Did enyone else have a hand in it ?” Baldwin went 
on after a pause to allow Johnson to recover from a 
cough. 

Johnson shook his head* 


m 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


“What you swore to at the coroner’s inquest wasn’t 
true, then ?” asked the constable. 

Johnson shook his head feebly. 

“You had a quarrel with Stevens, did you ?” again 
asked the constable, 

Johnson slowly nodded his head, and after a moment 
uttered feebly and thickly the word, “water.” While 
they were looking about the place for a cup, another 
cough so filled his throat that he seemed unable to 
breathe, and after a few moments of feeble effort, he 
subsided in death. 

When the wagon arrived, the body was placed in it, 
and taken through the night to Plainfield, where the 
excitement next day, as the story in detail became 
known, ran higher than at the time of the murder. Busi- 
ness, for the greater part of the day, was suspended, 
and the people flocked in a mass about the engine-house, 
where the body of Johnson had been taken. At the coro- 
ner’s inquest in the afternoon, Baldwin and his associates 
were exonerated, and measures immediately undertaken 
by the friends of Frank Dunn for his release. When 
the facts, together with Johnson’s dying admission of 
guilt, were learned by John Harmon, he became the 
most active and efficient of all Frank’s friends in bring- 
ing about his discharge from custody, and later wrote 
a detailed history of the case for the Farmer, subjoining 
a suggestion that the community manifest its confidence 
and congratulations by electing Frank supervisor. The 
good people of Plainfield, responding in a spirit of right- 
eous desire to make amend for the ignominy he had en- 
dured and the loss he had suffered so undeservedly, 
started such reaction toward popular favor, that any 
gift in the keeping of the people, was at his acceptance. 


CHAPTER XXL 


The Convent of Our Lady of Hope was a large brick 
structure situated on an eminence, facing to the west- 
ward and overlooking Marine City. The central por- 
tion, or main building, was surmounted by a cupola or 
belfry, and extending northerly and southerly on each 
side were extensions of lesser elevation or wings, the 
whole presenting an imposing appearance viewed from 
the street in front or the city below. At the southern 
end of the wing on that side, a conservatory extended 
back easterly for a distance of two hundred feet or more, 
and at the north end an extension, in the same direction, 
included the kitchen, laundry and storehouse, thus in- 
closing on three sides a large area laid out in vine- 
covered walks dividing the space into a number of large 
flower beds. On the ground floor adjoining the kitchen 
at the north end, was the refectory, and at the south end 
on the second floor, the infirmary. Projecting easterly 
into the flower garden from the central portion of the 
main building, was the little chapel, the altar room 
occupying the second floor, and on the floor below it, 
the oratory, where the daily devotions of the nuns were 
held. The lawn in front extended down to the street 
in a series of terraces, and was shaded by several fine 
old trees. The driveway, beginning at an entrance gate 
near the lower comer of the wide lawn, came up be- 
tween two rows of horse- chestnut trees, to the main 
entrance at the center of the building, and curved in 
like manner away to the second gate near the other 
corner below, 

['753 


1/6 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


Kate arrived at the convent on the afternoon of one 
of those mild October days when a murky haze is 
on the hills and the falling leaves, eddying down 
through the listless air, covered the ground where their 
shadows had lain through summer days. As she 
entered the gateway, the clock in th3 cupola struck three, 
and she piously thought, as she walked slowly up the 
path, of the omen in the three strokes of the bell, mark- 
ing her entrance upon the scene of her new life. 

Upon reaching the main entrance she rang the bell, 
and in a few moments the door was unlocked and opened 
by a demure-faced little nun who, holding the door 
slightly ajar, waited with an impassive expression for 
Kate to state her business. “ I wish to see the Mother’ 
Superior,” said Kate, whereupon the nun, with a slight 
nod of her head, opened wider the door and, as Kate 
entered, she led the way across the spacious hall to a 
cheerless little reception-room at the right hand side. 
There, turning toward Kate, she said in a low, gentle 
voice and without raising her eyes from the floor: “ Be 
seated; Mother Superior will be here directly.” 

The reception-room was disappointing to one coming 
from the outside with the impression of large propor- 
tions which a view of the exterior gave. It was only 
about twelve feet square and was lighted by only one 
window, and that placed so high that one could not 
look out of it even when standing, and it was so narrow 
that the light admitted, except for a while in the after- 
noon, was hardly sufficient to read by. The walls were 
plain white, and bare save for a picture of some saint, 
which hung at the side opposite the door. The floor 
was bare also, and the furniture comprised simply a 
plain little table placed against the wall opposite the 
picture, and four plain wooden chairs. 


KATHERtNl? BARRY. 


17; 

As Kate was noting these things and receiving her 
first impression of the austere surroundings of a recluse’s 
life, she heard someone approaching along the hall, and 
a moment later the Mother Superior appeared in the 
doorway and, with a slight bow of her head, walked to 
the side of the little table where she stood resting one 
hand upon it as she said, in a voice notably tender and 
sympathetic: “What can I do for you, my child?” 
Rising from her seat, Kate handed her the letter she 
had obtained from Father Logan as she said: “ I wish 
to become a nun and have come to this place at the sug- 
gestion of our priest, who gave me this letter addressed 
to you.” After reading the letter, the Superior looked 
at Kate in silence while she refolded it and placed it 
in its envelope and, continuing to look at her as she 
drew the edge of the envelope repeatedly between the 
thumb and forefinger of her left hand, Kate asked: “ I 
suppose you know Father Logan ?” 

“Yes, but only sli ghtly,” answered the Mother Supe- 
rior. Then turning co go, she said: “ Come with me to 
my room,” and leading the way up a broad stairway at 
the intersection of the entrance hall and another running 
through the building from north to south, she led the 
way, upon reaching the floor above, along the hall 
towards the south end of the building, and opening a 
door on the left at the far end, motioned Kate into a 
room next adjoining the infirmary and looking out over 
the flower garden. Going over to the chair at her desk 
near the window, the Superior said : “ Take a seat here,” 
pointing to a chair near by, and seating herself, she 
placed the letter upon her desk, as she said: “Have 
you given careful consideration to the step you propose 
to take ?” 

“ Oh yes,” answered Kate, “ I think so.” 


178 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


“ How long have you had it in mind ?” she in- 
quired. 

“ Some five or six weeks,” Kate answered. 

At this the Superior arched her eyebrows and looked 
again several moments at Kate in silence. 

“ What led you to think of becoming a nun ?” she 
asked at length, without taking her eyes from Kate’s 
face. 

“ My wish to leave the sinful world and to devote all 
my time to God’s service,” answered Kate. 

“What assurance do you feel that you have a voca- 
tion ?” asked the Superior. 

“ Well,” answered Kate with slight embarrassment, 
“ I only know that I am happiest when I am reading 
good books, and when I give all my heart to God in 
prayer and praise.” 

Here again there was another long pause,during which 
Kate looked down at her dusty travelling dress and the 
hand bag at her side with a dawning sen.se of having, 
perhaps, assumed too much as she felt the gentle but 
searching eyes of the Superior upon her. 

“ Well, my child,” at length spoke the Superior, “ you 
are tired after your journey; I will send you to a room 
for rest. Prepare yourself for confession and communion 
to-morrow morning and ask Father Vincent to advise 
you and to direct you as to your vocation.” Here 
she struck a call-bell upon her desk, and a moment 
later a light knock answered. Upon opening the door, 
the Superior said to the nun standing there in response 
to her call: “ Sister Alberta, take this young woman to 
room D beyond the chapel and look after her till I call 
her again to-morrow.” At this Kate arose, and bowing 
to the Superior, followed the nun to the room desig- 
nated where, for the first time since leaving home, she 

f,. 


KATHERINE BARRY. 1 79 

found opportunity to remove the stains of travel and to 
secure much needed rest. 

Sitting at the open window of her room about an 
hour later, looking out upon the flower garden, she saw 
a large number of girls, probably two hundred or more, 
going out, two by two, from a doorway somewhere at 
the south side of the chapel and, led by two nuns, march 
along one of the walks running across the flower garden 
to an open space or field beyond, where they broke rank 
and gave themselves over to the unrestrained hilarity 
of children on the play-ground. This was the first in- 
timation she had obtained of the character of the work 
done by the nuns at this place, and, in the condition 
of her spirits that afternoon, it was a great relief to her 
to hope that she might, to some extent, be brought into 
association with those children in her assignment to 
work. She had never taught school, it was true, but 
she was confident she could do so, and she knew she 
would choose to do that if she was to have anything to 
say in the matter. She could instruct those children in 
music, vocal and instrumental, she could teach them to 
do needlework, to knit and darn, to cut and fit their 
dresses, to cook and make pickles and preserves. Thus 
thinking, as she watched them from the window, she 
felt her confidence returning and her spirits rising again. 
With gladdened heart, she lifted her eyes to heaven as 
her lips murmured a spontaneous expression of thank- 
fulness to God who had led her here, she felt sure, for 
the work she could do in His service and to the glory 
of His name. 

An hour later, as she saw the children returning in file 
again, knowing that it was near the supper hour, she 
arose in a more hopeful mood and made ready. Pres- 
ently, a light rap told her that sister Alberta was there to 


i8o 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


show her to the refectory, and opening the door, with 
something of old-time light on her face that held the 
nun’s discerning eye for a moment, she accompanied her 
along the hall through the north wing and down a stair- 
way at its far end leading directly into the refectory. This 
stairway, evidently, was for the nuns exclusively for, 
as she reached the refectory, the children were entering 
through a wide doorway from the main hall on that floor. 
The refectory extended in its length the entire width of 
the building, and was so wide that tables, seating twelve 
on each side, stood one beyond the other the whole 
length of the room, leaving a wide space along either 
side. A nun sat at each end of the tables when the chil- 
dren were at meals, and others stood at intervals along 
the room to bring in food and to assist the younger chil- 
dren. About midway in the room and at one side, oppo- 
site the main entrance, was a large table upon a raised 
platform where the Superior and certain other of the 
nuns, officers and teachers, had their places. The room 
was well lighted by a row of windows along the north 
side and three at the west end, and the walls, plain 
white, were unadorned by a single picture or any orna- 
mentation whatever. 

Sister Alberta led Kate to a seat at the table upon the 
platform, known as the “ Superior’s table,” and took a 
seat there beside her. After grace was said by the 
Superior, Kate noticed as the meal progressed, that not 
a single word was spoken either by the nuns or the chil- 
dren, and surprised by so remarkable silence in such an 
assemblage, she said to sister Alberta : “ The children 
are very quiet.” 

“ No one is expected to speak unless the Superior per- 
mits it, as she often does, and as you will see later, by 
a stroke of the bell.” When the meal was about half 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


I8l 

through, the bell sounded, and instantly the great room 
v/as filled with the buzz of human voices. The children 
chatted in subdued tones, and their faces brightened in 
their enjoyment of the release from restraint till the 
meal was finished, when the Superior struck the hell 
again, and as instantly as before the babel was hushed, 
whereupon the Superior gave thanks and the children 
began to file out, two by two, one table following the 
other in order. 

The next morning Kate attended mass and received 
communion in the little chapel, and afterwards remained 
there in prayer till the bell rang for breakfast. At her 
confession. Father Vincent had advised meditation and 
prayer for the directing light of the Holy Ghost — a no- 
venna, or nine days’ period of continuous prayer, fasting 
and meditation before the altar of Our Lady of Hope, 
to be followed by confession and communion, when he 
would again counsel her in the light that would come 
from the pious and humble performance of this special 
devotion. Father Vincent was the resident priest at the 
convent. He was about twenty-five years of age, small, 
thin and feminine in voice and manner. His eyes were 
pale blue, his hair brown, and his complexion as fair as 
a girls, but his hollowed cheeks, thin nose, and a hack- 
ing cough that interrupted his conversation, explained 
such fraility and augured not for a long life. Kate was 
greatly pleased by the kindly interest the priest mani- 
fested, and by the unostentatious piety evidenced in all 
he said and did. As she observed him at mass that 
mornin"^, the pathetic fervor of his voice, the reverent 
devotion of his manner, the profound piety pervading 
every word and act so transcended that function as she 
had become accustomed to see it performed in the town 


1^2 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


hall at Plainfield, that she found herself thinking that, 
heretofore, she had never heard the mass properly said, 
and never before knew how impressive, how beautiful, 
and how full of significance it really was. 


CHAPTER XXII. 


Kate accomplished the novenna to her advantage in 
more ways than one. In addition to the spiritual bene- 
fits received, her piety and diligent performance of the 
nine days’ retreat had been observed by the watchful eye 
of the Superior, and went far to modify the notion she 
had entertained on the day of Kate’s arrival. The man- 
ner in which she conducted herself had also impressed 
favorably the nuns whose duties brought them in con- 
tact with her, and furthermore, she had won the good 
opinion of Father Vincent, whose opportunity for ob- 
serving her was such, of course, as to give to his con- 
clusions the quality of certainty. 

The question of vocation having been happily settled, 
Kate was formally admitted to the novitiate, and, clothed 
in the garb of that position, she was assigned to the sew- 
ing-room, where her skill and proficiency secured for 
her, within six months, promotion to the management 
of that department. The sisters associated with her 
in the sewing-room, not only liked her, they became 
her admirers, and as she was advanced from one posi- 
tion to another, no envy nor jealousy ever showed itself, 
a general recognition of her superiority inducing acqui- 
escent satisfaction. As the Superior’s confidence in 
her grew, she found intercourse with that personage 
more unrestrained and confidential, and a sort of mutual 
soul interpretation gradually developing reciprocal ap- 
preciation. To these favorable circumstances there 
was one exception. Sister Alberta entertained the no- 

[183] 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


184 

tion that Kate was over confident in self-esteem, and 
that she required such discipline as would bring her to 
a proper sense of humility. She fancied that Kate’s 
conduct was even arrogant at times in its presumptuous- 
ness, and that if the Superior could not see it, it was 
simply because she was fascinated by a pretty face and 
worldly tricks of manner. Possessed of these fancies, 
she often saw, with ill-suppressed feelings, the Superior 
pass over certain things without apparently taking the 
least notice of them, which, if allov/ed to thus go on 
uncorrected, would some day wreck the novice’s career 
and bring humiliating regret to the Superior. All this 
was the cause of much pain to the heart of Alberta, 
who was not actuated by any evil disposition, for she 
was conscientious and well-intentioned, but unfortu- 
nately for her, she was prone to draw conclusions 
too precipitately from premises not always true, and 
on more than one occasion heretofore had made trouble 
for herself and for others about her through the exercise 
of misdirected zeal. 

One day, when engaged upon a lot of new dresses for 
the girls, Kate sent one of her helpers to sister Alberta, 
who was officially in charge of the storeroom, with a 
requisition for some narrow insertion which she designed 
to go into the yokes of the dress waists. The messenger 
returned with the statement from Alberta that she 
could not let her have it at that time. The next day, 
Kate sent again for the insertion, and, receiving a simi- 
lar reply she concluded there was some unavoidable 
delay or difficulty, and therefore waited a couple of days 
before renewing the request and then went herself to 
the storeroom. 

“ Has Mother Superior sanctioned this frivolity,” 
inquired Alberta a little sharply. 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


I85 


“ Why, no,” answered Kate, surprised and stung by 
the nun’s words and manner. “ I did not think it was 
necessary to speak to her about it.” 

“It is your duty to speak to her about it,” tartly re- 
plied Alberta, “ and when you do, it is time enough to 
send requisition for it here.” 

Very deeply hurt in her feelings, Kate returned to the 
sewing-room, carefully concealing any indication of 
what she felt, and resumed her work wondering whether 
she had better go to the Superior with the matter or 
have the dresses finished without the insertion. 

That evening, after supper, the Superior sent for Kate. 
Surmising at once that this summons had reference to 
the incident of the day, Kate went to the Superior’s 
room not over confident, for she had already admitted 
to herself after thinking of it, that the sting she had 
felt in Alberta’s words came from the right in them. 

Upon entering the Superior’s room, her heart grew 
quieter as she observed no indications of displeasure 
upon the Superior’s face. 

“ What is this I hear,” she asked as she motioned Kate 
to the chair at her desk, “ about insertion for the chil- 
dren’s dresses ?” 

“ Why, Mother,” answered Kate, looking with candor 
into the Superior’s eyes, “ I never once thought that I 
was exceeding my authority; I only wished to make the 
new dresses look prettier when it could be done at a 
trifling outlay, and truly, I thought you would be 
pleased.” 

Without further question the Superior looked at her 
for some moments in silence, and Kate misinterpreting 
this, supported her elbow with one hand as she covered 
her eyes, in which tears were rising, with the other. 

“ Now my child,” began the Superior in gentle tones, 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


1 86 

“there is no occasion for tears, and you must try to 
always control you feelings. You may not know it yet, 
but we have to be very careful here and economize to 
even a penny’s worth. I am sure your intention was 
good, and your desire even laudable, yet, even though 
you are in charge of your department, you should not, 
in strict conformance to rules, add to established ex- 
penditures in any degree whatever without permission. 
I do not say this in reprimand, but for your information.” 

Here she struck the call-bell, and to the nun answering 
at the door she said: “ Tell sister Alberta to come here.” 

Under the soothing tones of the Superior’s words and 
the gentle kindness of her manner, Kate had regained 
her composure before Alberta answered the summons. 

“ Sister Alberta,” said the Superior, “ have you any 
narrow insertion in the storeroom ?” 

“ Yes, Mother,” answered Alberta. 

“Well,” continued the Superior, “we shall require 
some for the children’s summer dresses which are being 
made now, for I think we may incur the additional ex- 
pense out of consideration for the great improvement 
it will make in their appearance.” 

“ I don’t think I have enough in one width to go on 
all of them,” said Alberta, shaking her head. 

“ Have you enough in different widths ?” asked the 
Superior. 

“Yes, Mother,” answered Alberta. 

“ Well, we can use the narrower as far as it will go on 
the smaller dresses, and take as much of the wider as 
may be needed then to finish out the larger ones.” 

“ Very well. Mother,” said Alberta. 

“ That’s all,” said the Superior, bowing towards both, 
whereupon Alberta and Kate withdrew, each to her 
own place. 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


187 


Sister Alberta had been in the convent many years, 
and had earned for herself a reputation for strict con- 
formity to rule and discipline and for the diligence with 
which she discharged her duties without regard or 
favor to anyone. She was about fifty years of age, 
medium in stature, spare, thin-faced, “hook-nosed,” 
with small gray eyes set rather close together, a small 
mouth and a narrow, pointed chin. She was pious and 
conscientious, and loyal in her friendship when the re- 
cipient had demonstrated to her satisfaction true worth. 
Until that was accomplished, however, her suspicion 
was alert and, as in the instance related, very likely to 
lead her into trouble. Her reverence and devotion to 
the Superior were all that her nature could make them, 
and, for that reason, what she observed when summoned 
to the Superior’s room on the occasion referred to, 
wrought a great change in her estimate and deportment 
toward Kate thereafter. It was plain to her now that 
Kate was in favor with the Superior, there could be no 
guess-work about that, for how otherwise explain the 
unheard-of innovation of putting insertion in the or- 
phans’ dresses! Well, the Superior knew more about 
this novice than she did, at least she ought to, and if 
she saw enough in her to merit such unprecedented con- 
sideration, why, that was pretty good reason that she 
deserved it, and hereafter she was not going to look 
after her and worry about her any more. If she was 
worthy the Superior’s confidence, she would try to 
consider her worthy of hers, a resolution which removed 
from Kate’s experience thereafter its single disagree- 
able element. 

One morning, about two weeks later, Kate was re- 
turning from the conservatory with some flowers she 
had obtaiaed from old Pierre, the gardener, to place in 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


1 88 

the vases upon the altar of Our Lady of Hope, when 
she encountered a messenger with a summons to the 
Superior’s room. Wondering what the occasion of her 
call might be, she presented herself straightway at the 
room with the flowers in her hand. 

“ I have sent for you,” began the Superior, as she 
laid her pen in the rack and, placing a blotter between 
the leaves of a ledger, closed it upon her desk, “ to talk 
to you about taking sister Cecelia’s place, at least tem- 
porarily or until she recovers.” Sister Cecelia was 
secretary and bookkeeper, and for years had occupied 
the room adjoining that of the Superior in her official 
capacity. About ten days previously she had been sent 
to the infirmary, incapacitated by a chronic gouty affec- 
tion of the joints, which so stiffened her hands and fin- 
gers that she was no longer able to use her pen. “ I 
have observed that you write a good hand, and with 
your qualifications, I think you competent to attend to 
the books and to do the correspondence, with my assist- 
ance. Since sister Cecelia went into the infirmary, I 
have been trying to do the work, but the doctor tells me 
that she is not likely to be able to resume her work for 
some time, if at all, and after thinking of the matter, I 
have concluded to call you to take her place.” 

Kate’s delight at this very complimentary promotion 
was beaming from her face as she said: “ Thank you. 
Mother, I hope I shall be able to do the work to your 
satisfaction.” 

“ I shall send sister Ann to take your place,” went on 
the Superior, “ and as soon as she relieves you, come 
here and I will install you in your new position.” 

As the Superior ceased speaking she made her little 
nod, which always signified that the interview was at an 
end, and Kate arising, took a beautiful white rose from 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


189 


the bunch of flowers in her hand, and offered it to the 
Superior as she said with a smile of pleasure: “ I was 
going to the altar of Our Lady of Hope with these flow- 
ers — may I offer this one to you ?” 

“ Thank you,” said the Superior, as she received it 
and held it to her nose as Kate, with a bow, hurried 
away to the chapel. 

The room in which Kate took up her new work ad- 
jo bied the Superior’s on the north side. It had two 
windows at the eastern end overlooking the flower 
garden, and two doors, one opening into the hall and 
another connecting with the Superior’s room. Like 
every other room in the house, its floor was bare and its 
walls plain white. In the right-hand corner, next the 
window and against the south wall, was a large flat- 
topped desk, and adjoining this, a long high desk with 
a sloping top, likewise against the south wall, and upon 
which heavy leather-bound account-books lay. At the 
flat desk was a plain wooden chair, and in front of the 
high desk, a low broad stool upon which sister Cecelia 
used to stand when at work there, to compensate for 
her small stature. At the opposite side of the room 
was a letter press, an iron safe, a stand upon which 
lay a few books, including an unabridged dictionary, 
and a wide old-fashioned bookcase, in which were a few 
volumes on an upper shelf, and stored away on all the 
others were old ledgers and books of account, and bun- 
dles of documents yellow with age. 

Through her love of order, her industry and the 
knowledge of accounts and correspondence acquired at 
Plainfield Seminary, Kate pleased the Superior by the 
celerity with which she comprehended her instructions 
in the new work and made rapid progress in acquiring 
facility in the accomplishment of the varied duties of 
her office. 


CHAPTER XXIIL 


In her new position Kate found more frequent oppor- 
tunity to devote, at intervals during the day, a few min- 
utes in prayer and adoration before the altar in the 
chapel than came to her at any time since entering the 
convent. These little devotions had not gone unnoticed 
by the Superior, who had observed them while Kate was 
even yet in her first assignment in the sewing-room, 
and had seen in them a most assuring indication of the 
piety of the young novice. 

One day as Kate was kneeling as usual in prayer be- 
fore the altar, she raised her eyes reverently toward the 
tabernacle and, as she did so, was startled by a momen- 
tary display of pure white light directly in front of the 
tabernacle door, dazzling in its brightness, circular in 
form and about the size of a small tea-saucer, with radi- 
ating rays innumerable all about its circumference. In 
a moment, it was gone, and, believing that what she had 
seen was in some way miraculous, she bowed low in 
thanksgiving for the favor heaven had shown her, while 
her heart throbbed with sudden excitement. After 
leaving the chapel, she hastened to the Superior to 
whom she related what she had just seen before the 
tabernacle. “ My child,” said the Superior, looking at 
her in a way Kate had never seen anyone look at her 
before, and speaking slowly, with measured words, “ I 
believe you have been vouchsafed a beatific vision of the 
Holy Eucharist — favored child! go straight away and 
[ipo] 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


I9I 

thank God for the special favor He has seen fit to show 
you — gOf and I will join you in thanks to our blessed 
Lord.” Before the altar, the Superior bowed reverently 
and prayed half audibly with extraordinary fervency, 
while Kate at her side, prayed too, as well as she could 
in the state of mind her “vision” and the Superior’s 
words had brought upon her. 

As they withdrew, the Superior advised Kate to de- 
vote some part of every hour to adoration of the Blessed 
Sacrament, and to tell Father Vincent when at confes- 
sion, of what she had seen. But, before she had the op- 
portunity to do this latter, in the afternoon of that day, 
she again saw the same round white light for an instant 
toward the ceiling while at prayer in the chapel. At 
her confession later, she was somewhat disappointed by 
the apparent nonchalence of the priest as she described 
to him in detail what she had seen. “ Be patient and 
prayerful, and watch and wait, and we shall see what 
comes of it,” was all he said in reply or advice to her. 

The appearance of these lights was not long confined 
to the chapel ; she began to see them everywhere, in her 
room, along the halls, by day and at night, without warn- 
ing, and often when her mind was upon her work or 
other matters, the light would flash before her for a 
moment and as quickly disappear, but, whenever and 
wherever seen, she immediately uttered a prayer and 
betook her soul into an attitude of reverence for a few 
moments. As she told the Superior of these things 
from day to day, that good woman would raise her eyes 
and hands in spontaneous worship, and thank heaven 
for the favor conceded to a humble member of her house- 
hold. Her demeanor toward Kate grew more and more 
condescending as the days went by, made memorable 
by the repetition of these occurences, and at times, her 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


192 

bearing became so deferential as to cause a most uncom 
fortable feeling in one never unmindful of the relative 
disparity of their stations as Kate had always been. 
The Superior now began also to allow her special privi- 
leges, and often accompanied her in prayer in the chapel 
and in her walks in the flower garden, to the great as- 
tonishment of the nuns who marvelled greatly, until 
an account of the “visions” was given them by the 
Superior who at length, when the necessity for it oc- 
curred to her, called them together in the oratory for 
t!iit purpose. After listening to the Superior their 
\.'.':ider at her conduct ceased, or rather it was altered 
and diverted to the novice chosen by heaven to be thus 
favored in this most extraordinary manner. 

Very soon, however, another strange thing began to 
attract Kate’s attention. In the quiet of her room, 
while engaged in her clerical duties, she heard certain 
unaccountable tappings about her desk, now continuous 
and persistent, and again not occurring for several days. 
For a few weeks before leaving the sewing-room she 
had noticed similar tappings there, sometimes upon a 
sewing-machine, again upon a table or chair, but her 
attention was so occupied in the supervision of her help- 
ers, and so much of detail there that she gave them 
only a moment’s notice and forgot them until forced 
upon her again some time later. In the stillness of the 
large room, however, the tappings were so much more 
distinct and continuous, and she found her attention 
diverted thereby to such degree from her work that one 
afternoon she undertook a special examination of her 
desk inside and out, drawers, locks, and in every space 
and corner, to discover some lurking beetle, “ snapping- 
bug,” or perhaps even a mouse to account for these 
noises. One by one she took out the drawers with a 


KATttERlNE BARRY. 


195 

knock upon the bottom side of each as she did so, and 
then carefully examined every item as she replaced it, 
even to the contents of envelopes, pencil and pen boxes. 
While thus engaged she was somewhat startled to hear 
the tapping upon the drawers immediately after empty- 
ing them, and while they were even yet in her hands! 
She could not understand it, and as she sat there listen- 
ing and wondering, after having given up the search 
and readjusted the desk, she observed that the tapping 
began to ass n:ie somewhat of order. First, there Vv^as 
a series o.- single knocks, then a series of double knocks, 
then of treble and so on increasing. Then a single rap 
would be followed by two, then by three, and so on in 
regular arithmetical order up to twenty or thirty. Had 
the Superior been in the next room she would have 
sought her aid in searching for some explanation of 
these strange tappings, but it so happened that on that 
day she was absent on some official business at the 
bishop’s, and would not be at the convent again till even- 
ing. Therefore alone, in the stillness of the rooms, Kate 
sat listening and wondering, and when the knocks began 
to come in ones and twos and threes, and in groups of 
numbers forward and backward, she said to herself, 
this can not be a bug nor a mouse, for there seems t.o 
be intelligence in it. Under certain circumstances this 
thought would have been sufficient to send her flying t') 
the chapel for protection, but in the full bright sunlight 
of a beautiful June day, with the singing of birds com- 
ing in through the open window, the courage begotten 
of light and companionship kept the slightest intimation 
of fear thus far in abeyance. As she counted the knocks 
and noted their number, she felt an irresistible curiosity 
to know more of the cause and significance of them. 
Why doesn’t it knock three now, she queried mentally, 


194 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


instead of one, two, three, and so on. Immediately 
three knocks were given and then a pause, as if 
awaiting her further suggestion. This did really some- 
what startle her. After a little pause, she asked in her 
mind : make three knocks again. Promptly three knocks 
were given. “Why, what can this be!” she exclaimed 
aloud in some alarm, as she went to the door leading to 
the Superior’s room and looking in, continued: “How 
I wish Mother Superior was here.” Going back to her 
window, she stood with one hand on the casing as she 
looked at the desk and thought, is this something good 
or evil. At once there was a rapid succession of knocks. 
How can I know what that means, she thought. “ If 
it is good,” she spoke aloud, after a moment, “make 
two raps.” Promptly two raps were made. Filled with 
astonishment, she continued, after a monlent to recover 
herself, “Who or what is it ?” Silence following, and 
perceiving that her question could be answered by 
knocks denoting only yes or no, she added: “If it is 
from God, make two knocks.” Several raps were made 
in succession, then two distinct, followed by several 
more made in succession. “Is it from some saint ?” 
she asked. Several knocks followed. Dear me! she 
thought, what can this mean? “Is it truly from some 
person ?” she asked aloud, and two very sharp raps fol- 
lowed. For a few moments she was almost awestruck, 
but, recovering herself, she again asked: “Is it from 
any one in trouble ?” Two raps were given, and the 
pathos of it stirring her sympathy, she asked again : “Is 
it from some poor suffering soul in purgatory ?” A 
single sharp rap confused her when she expected to 
hear two; however, she persisted: “ Do you wish me to 
pray for you, or to have masses said for you ?” in a 
voice tender with sympathy. This was followed by so 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


195 


many raps and in such disorder, that she could draw no 
conclusion as to the answer and, with a sudden feeling 
of distrust, she turned away quickly and hastened to the 
chapel, where she spent a long time in prayer and in 
pondering over the significance of the rapping upon the 
desk. 

From the chapel she went out to the garden, and find- 
ing old Pierre there digging about the flower-beds, she 
talked with him of planting, transplanting, of “ slipping ” 
and grafting with so much practical knowledge of these 
things that the old man frequently stopped to straighten 
his back as far as it could be straightened as he said: 
“Mon dieu! vous know so mooch ez I do ’bout eet.” 
But Kate was not talking to air her knowledge, 
rather was she trying to relieve her mind of the effect 
of the strange experience of that afternoon which now, 
as the shadows crept into the corners indoors, began to 
develop in her a fear of being alone. So she talked to 
the old gardener till the children were returning from 
the playground, when she joined them on the way to 
supper. 

Upon entering the refectory, Kate was pleased to see 
that the Mother Superior had already returned and 
was standing at her table awaiting the children. 
She appeared to be tired and took very little supper, de- 
voting most of the time at table to looking over letters 
she had found upon her desk awaiting her. As soon 
after supper as she could do so, Kate related her experi- 
ence of the day to the Superior. “ My child !” exclaimed 
that good woman with an expression of awe on her 
face, “that is spirit-rapping, it is of Satan — an awful 
thing! I am shocked and pained by this. How could 
the power of evil manifest itself here and about you! 
I believe that the devil, envious of the favor heaven 


196 


KATHERINE BARRV. 


has shown you, is trying to distract you in order to bring 
about your undoing. Fly from it, my child ! fly from it 
as you prize your immortal soul, and seek the protection 
of our blessed Lady of Hope, who will answer your 
prayers and your trust in her by intereeding with her 
Son in your behalf ! Put your trust in God, and He who. 
has already shown you such favor, will not leave you to 
the enemy who by every means in his power will try 
to confound and distract you from the peaceful enjoy- 
ment of heavenly favor. Go to confession at once and 
tell all to Father Vincent, eoncealing and omitting noth- 
ing, and bfe guided by his ghostly advice. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


Two days later, Kate received a telegram announcing 
the sudden and unexpected death of her father. This 
sad news came upon her without the slightest intimation, 
for, in a letter received only a few days before, they were 
all reported well and .special mention made of the ac- 
tivity of her father who, with Andy, was busy at sheep- 
shearing, hurrying it out of the way before “ha37ing” 
began. Almost overcome with grief, Kate made instant 
preparation for her departure in a sort of half distracted 
way, which not even the kind assistance, the pious ex- 
hortation and sensible admonition of the Superior could 
wholly compose. When, however, she was made ready 
for the journey the Superior, accompanying her to the 
door where Pierre was waiting with the old chaise to 
take her to the station, said to her: “ Now, my child, 
bear with brave patience this trial, for you know it is 
the will of God. Think of the sorrows of Our Blessed 
Lady, and consider her complete submission to God’s 
all- wise purposes. Pray for resignation and strength, 
and be assured that we shall not forget you in our pray- 
ers, nor fail to keep you in our thoughts till you are 
restored to us again.” 

In the absence of particular information as to how or 
why death came so suddenly upon her father, Kate’s 
journey homewards was one increasing misery. Was 
it by accident and a cruel death, or was it by some sudden 
collapse? She recalled the “faint spells” of recent 

[197] 


198 


KATHERINE BARRY 


years, more frequently, as she thought of it now, in the 
past two, and hoped that if his time had come he had 
been taken away in one of these rather than by a pain- 
ful death. It was an awful blow anyway ! What would 
her mother do now ? In all probability she would go to 
live with John or James in the West, and the dear old 
homestead would be deserted. Alas ! how insecure are 
the possessions of this world ! To our youthful, worldly 
eyes they appear so desirable, so secure and enduring, 
and we strive for them as if once won, they would be 
ours forever instead of for a few uncertain years. The 
struggle for worldly possessions, even when successful, 
developed chiefly our desire to appropriate to self, for 
lo! to-morrow we die, and all is left behind except that 
which we have cultivated or developed in ourselves 
during the struggle for possession. The object of our 
contention is lost, the resultant effect upon ourselves 
remains. That alone, we take with us. 

Upon reaching home, Kate found her mother pros- 
trated. This great affliction having fallen upon her so 
suddenly in the absence of her children, neither of the 
sons having yet arrived, she found no sustaining comfort 
in the attention, however kind, of those administering 
to her comparable with what her heart craved, and could 
only come to her from her own. The grief, too, of Andy 
and Betty was as deep as if they also had suffered the 
loss of a parent, so long had they been in Mr. Barry’s 
employ and so great was their affection for the kind old 
man who had been to them as a father. The house was 
filled with neighbors and friends who were coming and 
going in numbers, expressing sympathy and their affec- 
tion and esteem for the “ old pioneer.” 

Kate learned that her father had arisen on the day of 
his death in his usual health, and upon going down to 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


199 


the dining-room, where Betty was already arranging the 
table for breakfast, he spoke to her pleasantly of how he 
had overslept. While putting on his blouse, she saw 
him reel, and he would have fallen had she not caught 
him and with difficulty supported him to the lounge. 
After a screaming call to Mrs. Barry, she ran to the 
kitchen and getting a dipper of water, sprinkled his face 
and slapped his palms, while Mrs. Barry, supporting 
his head, loosened his collar and fanned and called to 
him. But there was no response, and when the doctor 
arrived later, he said that death was due to heart-failure, 
and that “ to all intents and purposes ” it had been in- 
stantaneous. “Arrah, th’ dear, good man,” moaned 
Mrs. Barry to those about her, “ I believe he died av a 
broken heart, fer he never was th’ same since Kate wint 
away to th’ convint.” 

When the sons arrived, the question awaiting their 
decision was, as to where interment should be. There 
was no Catholic burial-ground nearer than High Falls, but 
it was known that, some weeks previous, Mr. Barry and 
Frank Dunn had interested themselves in looking about 
for some land near the village suitable for a burial- 
ground, and that they had decided upon a certain piece 
not far from the church, but had not closed the matter 
on account of the price, which was considered too high. 
Frank Dunn and Mr. Barry’s son John went, therefore, 
to the owner to see what could be done. “ It’s all right, 
gentlemen,” said he to them, “you can have it under 
the circumstances, at your offer. The land is sold as 
completely as any deed can make it — you have my word 
for it. Go and bury the body of my good friend Mr. 
Barry there, and when you get to it, come to me and we 
will pass the papers.” 

In some way this transaction reached Father Logan, 


200 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


for on the morning of the day on which the funeral was 
to take place, he sent a messenger to say that he wished 
to see one of the sons of Mr. Barry. John, being the 
elder, presented himself at the priest’s house. 

“ I undhersthan’ yer goin’ to bury yer father in th’ 
new buryin’-groun’,” said he. 

“ Yes,” answered John, “ Mr. Bruce told us yesterday 
to do so. He always thought a great deal of father, and 
out of consideration for that and for us, he said we could 
consider the lot sold at the offer made, but which is con- 
siderably below what he asked for it, I’m told.” 

“Well, we have to pay for it, an’ I sint fer you now 
to sign fer twinty-five dollars, yer father’s share av it, 
before ye bury ’im theyre.” 

“Why, you haven’t got title yet!” objected John in 
g^eat surprise. 

“ Haven’t we Misther Bruce’s word fer it ?” returned 
the priest. 

“ Oh yes, but hadn’t this better wait a while — I am not 
qualified to administer my father’s estate,” interposed 
John. 

“ Aren’t you his son ?” said the priest, argumenta- 
tively. 

“ I don’t see how that alters it,” said John. 

“Well, it althers it,” returned the priest with some 
warmth, “so that av ye want yer father buried theyre, 
ye’ll have to sign before it’s done.” 

Seeing how determined the priest was, and wishing 
to avoid any interference or unseemly contention, John 
concluded to waive the technical point, and therefore 
signed the paper the priest had ready for him. 

The burial over, it was discovered that Mr. Barry’s 
will set forth that the property should not be distributed 
among his children during the lifetime of the mother. 


KATHERINE BARRV. 


26 1 

to the end that she might enjoy the income therefrom. 
His son John and Frank Dunn were mentioned as exec- 
utors, and it was left optional whether the farm should 
be sold or kept in the family at rental. In a conference 
of the family it was decided to dispose of the farm and 
appurtenances by sale immediately, if possible, or later 
through Frank’s agency, and that Mrs. Barry should go 
West with her sons and live with either one, or with 
each for a season, as best suited her liking after she had 
arrived there. 

Several days were occupied in disposing of the stock 
and farming tools and in selecting and packing certain 
old articles of the household belongings to be removed 
by the sons to their homes. Kate suffered an occasional 
pang as, now and then, certain articles, old and worn 
and homely, but particularly identified with some dear 
association of the past, were added to the list for the 
auctioneer; but when they came to her room, she re- 
served of all its contents, only a little French clock 
which her father gave her on her twelfth birthday. 

When, after much unavoidable confusion, these mat- 
ters were sufficiently disposed of, tearful good-bys were 
said and Kate set out again for the convent. On the 
occasion of her previous journey thither, her inspiration, 
while in the main true, was mere or less tinged with 
sentimentalism, but now, with her back turned upon 
her dismantled home, her dear father dead, and face to 
face with the actualities of the life she had chosen, her 
soul was so depressed that only by the greatest effort 
of will could she defend herself against the persistent 
temptation to regret. As the miles multiplied between 
her and the scenes of her girlhood, however, and she 
found herself nearing her destination, her composure 
and resolution increased, so that when she left the train 


202 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


at the station in Marine City, she felt a comforting 
sense of deliverance and a pleased contentment as she 
hurried up to the convent. 

Once more at her work, the familiar faces of the nuns, 
the motherly affection of the Superior, the rows of chil- 
dren in the refectory, the chapel, the angelus bell, the 
flower garden, the quiet, secluded and protecting atmos- 
phere of the place quickly eliminated the material inci- 
dents of her visit home, and restored to her the spirit of 
her work with a livelier sense of appreciation for the re- 
minding glimpse she had taken of the world, its trials, 
uncertainties, its sorrows and losses. In resuming her 
former devotions she would find henceforth a comforting 
duty in special prayers and offices for the repose of her 
dear father’s soul, and would find also consolation in the 
thought that her station in life would be such that, in 
the nature of things, she could not only cherish his 
memory undisturbed, but she could also follow him in 
filial affection with her prayers and self-sacrifice to ob- 
tain for him eternal rest. 


CHAPTER XXV. 


For many weeks the course of life at the convent ran 
on in its smooth and narrow channel with no incident 
greater than that now and then some one of the larger 
girls was made to stand for two hours with her back 
against the wall in the main corridor for being “impu- 
dent,” or that old Pierre, by being late some morning 
at the vestry, kept Father Vincent waiting with his 
vestments on, fully two whole minutes for his coming 
to serve the mass. 

The mysterious tapping on Kate’s desk had recurred 
but once, and then on the second day following her re- 
turn to the convent. The Superior being at the time 
in her room adjoining, Kate ran to her with the intel- 
ligence, and that good woman, seizing a bottle of holy 
water, cautiously entered the room and, with pious in- 
vocations of “ Father, Son and Holy Ghost,” plentifully 
sprinkled the desk and Kate and herself with a final 
general distribution about the walls to the great discom- 
fiture evidently of the Evil One, for thereafter it was 
heard no more. The beautiful white lights continued, 
however, to appear with increasing frequency. She sav/ 
them now several times during mass every morning, 
and somewhere about the altar every time she knelt in 
the chapel at prayer, most frequently in front of the 
tabernacle, and at times directly in the face of the 
statue of the virgin upon the altar of Our Lady of Hope. 

A painful mishap about this time befel the Mother 
Superior. In returning from the basement, whither 

[203] 


204 


KAtHERTNE BARRY. 


she had accompanied Pierre to discover the source of 
leaking water which was flooding the floor, she slipped 
or in some way tripped upon the stone steps and fell, 
striking her knee with such force that she was immedi- 
ately rendered unable to walk, and, suffering great pain, 
was carried to the infirmary and a messenger hurried 
away for the doctor. Upon his arrival, and after care- 
ful examination of the injured knee, the doctor stated 
that a portion of the patella had been fractured and the 
parts so bruised that she would be confined to her bed 
for a long time. “ My child,” she said to Kate, “ I am 
so thankful that this infliction comes to me when you are 
qualified to look after the duties of the office. Our 
Heavenly Father, you see, tempers his judgments with 
providential mercy.” 

One day in the week following this injury to the Su- 
perior, Kate had made out, at her request, a long monthly 
statement of expenditures in the culinary department, 
and had spread before her upon the desk another large 
sheet upon which to write out a copy of the same. With 
her pencil still in hand and her arm upon the desk, her 
attention was attracted by the shouts of the children 
on the playground, and, looking through the open win- 
dov7 over beyond the flower garden, she saw a number 
of them, with hands joined, forming a ring around one 
of the sisters whom, for the moment, they had en- 
trapped with great jubilation into their play. Watching 
them thus, she was suddenly surprised to observe that 
her hand, propelled by some unseen force, began to 
move upon the paper, at first back and forth several 
times, and then crosswise a number of times, and then 
in a sweeping circle as large as the sheet of paper would 
admit, moving faster and faster, and with increasing 
force, till a great black ring was made by the repeated 


Katherine barrv. 


20 ^ 

passage of the pencil point. Feeling no apprehension, 
because she surmised that this was probably some curi- 
ous nervous manifestation induced by her recent trials, 
she regarded it with a sort of passive interest and, lifting 
her arm from the desk, she looked at the worn point of 
the pencil and examined her hand and arm, feeling of 
them and rubbing them with her disengaged hand. In 
a tentative way she then placed her hand again upon 
the paper, whereupon it immediately sped away again 
over the same track, round and round, even faster than 
she could have made it move of her own volition. With- 
out stopping its motion, her hand was suddenly changed 
in its course so that her pencil described a great figure 
of eight, and this was continued with the same rapid 
movement, till the tracings showed the figure an inch 
wide in the marking. 

Assuming that this indicated that she was too nervous 
to continue her work, she dropped her pencil and went 
down to the garden for a half-hour’s recreation among 
the flowers, and when the doctor called, to-morrow, she 
would consult him about herself and this curious nerv- 
ous disturbance. At the end of a path, over on the 
north side, she found old Pierre gathering flower seeds 
and putting them into pasteboard boxes. As she watched 
him, her thoughts went back to a year ago, to the old 
home and the flower seeds, and her mother and father, 
and too saddened to find interest in what the old man 
was garrulously telling her of what he had observed as the 
reason why certain seeds were only brown while others 
of the same kind were black when ripe, she turned away, 
and drawing out her beads, walked up and down the 
paths till she had said seven paters and seven aves for 
the repose of her father’s soul. 

Upon returning to her desk somewhat refreshed and 


2o6 KATHERINE BARRY. 

composed, she took up her pencil as she seated herself, 
and placed her hand upon the paper to observe whether 
the nervous movement was now gone. With more of 
disappointment than surprise, she saw that it was still 
there, for at once her hand began making the circles 
again, but this time only during a few moments, for, 
with a sudden sweep to the left side of the page, it be- 
gan to move as if in writing, or what else she could not 
tell, but she would let it go on for a little and see. When, 
after a few moments, it stopped with an abrupt 
dash to the margin, she drew the paper round squarely 
in front of her and looked at it. Imagine, if you can, 
her astonishment to see written there plainly, but not 
in her own handwriting: “My child, this is for you 
alone. Do not show it to the Superior, nor speak of it 
to her yet. Your brother Francis is here with a mes- 
sage from your father. Let us have a clean sheet and 
I will write it through your hand for him.” This plain 
writing by her own hand, yet through the influence of 
someone else ! Her brother here, her long lost brother ! 
and with a message from her father! She was almost 
helpless with amazement and a feeling of awe akin to 
fear, which only the words, “a message from your 
father ” restrained from sending her flying in fright 
from the room. Trembling with excitement, but con- 
trolling herself with all the will power at her command, 
she procured a clean sheet of paper, and placing her hand 
holding the pencil upon it, the writing went on again. 
When it had ceased, she eagerly picked up the paper and 
read: “Do not fear, my dear sister, I am your own 
brother,and those with me here are our friends and help- 
ers. We are with you every day more or less, but un- 
til now, of course, you did not know it. Your guide, 
or guardian angel, as you would say, has long worked 


KAtHERINE BARRY. 20 ^ 

over you to develop your latent capacity for this writ- 
ing-, and we are all rejoicing that this means of com- 
munication has been at last accomplished. Father is 
not strong enough to be here yet, but he will come soon. 
He sends this message to you : ‘ My darling daughter, 
you are as dear to me as ever. I will soon come to see 
you. Things here are not much like what I expected. 
You will know more about it soon for you ha,ve a great 
guide, and they tell me he has great things in store for 
you! Now my child,’” the writing went on, evidently 
from the moving influence itself, “ we will not write 
any more this time, for your magnetism is nearly ex- 
hausted, and you are excited. You should rest now, 
and calm yourself, and later, when your strength is re- 
turned and the time favorable, we will write again. 
Good-bye for this time, and may God bless the work so 
auspiciously begun.” In unspeakable wonderment, she 
read the writing over and over again, marvelling at this 
unheard-of occurrence, and then folding the paper care- 
fully, she locked it away in a drawer of the desk, and, 
to recover her composure, went over to the infirmary to 
visit the Superior. 

“Are you ill, my child?” she asked, as Kate seated 
herself at the side of the narrow iron cot, “it seems to 
me you look flushed and feverish.” 

“ No mother,” answered Kate, putting her hand to 
her cheek to try its temperature, “ I have been at work 
for some time, and I have brought this draft of the 
statement in for you to look it over before I copy it.” 

This assertion, while true in a way was not, of course, 
the whole truth, and as she made it a sense of guilt 
sent a blush to her face, which was so masked by the 
flush already there that it was not observed. 

“ Yes, my child,” said the Superior, after a close ex- 


208 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


amination of the statement, “it seems to be correct, 
but now,” handing it back to her, “lay your work aside 
and go out for a little exercise in the air — I fear you are 
threatened by some illness.” 

After making but a few turns in the garden, however, 
she went up to the chapel, where she gave herself up to 
meditation, not however upon the ordinary subjects ol 
that office, but upon the strange occurrence of the day 
which was excluding every other topic from her mind. 
What if the influence which moved her arm in the v/rit- 
ing was evil, as was that of the rapping which the holy 
water drove away! That was the question that worried 
her because of its importance and by the persistence 
with which it attached itself to every other thought re- 
lating to the affair. How could she know ? for the 
written words expressed good and pious sentiment, and 
were just such as the Superior herself would use under 
the same circumstances. Nevertheless, it would be 
prudent to take proper precaution to be assured, and 
next time, before submitting her hand to the writing, 
she would sprinkle herself and the desk with holy water, 
and keep a bottle filled with it right on the desk in front 
of her. She knew that was what the Superior would 
do if she knew anything about the matter, as indeed, 
Kate intended she should a little later, but for a while 
she would keep it to herself, as requested, but at the 
first indication of any evil, she would inform the Su- 
perior at once and seek her help. The quiet and sacred 
atmosphere of the chapel, so adapted to still the 
tumult stirred by the day’s experience, she lingered a 
while longer to tell her rosary, and to obtain the helpful 
intercession of Our Lady of Hope. Thus occupied, 
she continued there while sisters came and went in their 


KATHERINE BARRY 


209 


ordinary brief devotional visits. At length the refec- 
tory bell sounded, and startled at how time had been 
slipping by unperceived, she hurried her aves to close 
the decade and, hastening from the chapel, she joined 
the sisters in the corridor on their way to the refectory. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 


As soon as breakfast was over next morning, Kate 
hastened up to the infirmary to make her usual morning 
call on the Superior and to receive her directions for 
the day. 

“ I am pleased to see you looking so well this morn- 
ing,” said the Superior, “ but I think you had better rest 
to-day, and I shall not, therefore, lay out any work for 
you unless there should be something very pressing in 
the morning mail.” 

This was quite to Kate’s purpose, for, thinking so 
much, as she had, of the m37sterious writing of the day 
before, she was desirous of an opportunity to satisfy 
herself as to how she should rightfully regard it. 
“ Thank you, mother,” she replied, “ I shall be in the 
office for a while, where I can copy the letters if you 
send any in.” 

Upon entering her room, Kate took from her pocket 
a bottle of holy water, with which she had provided 
herself at the chapel, and sprinkled the desk, her chair 
and herself, and then placed the bottle uncorked upon 
the desk in front of her. Laying a sheet of foolscap 
paper upon the desk, she picked up her pencil and placed 
her hand upon the paper. Immediately it began to 
move in circles for a little, and then to make the double 
loop figure, after which it wrote: “ Now a clean paper, 
please.” Having supplied this, the writing went on as 
follows: “ My child, I am glad we are to have so good 
opportunity for the writing to-day. In order to econo- 
[ 210 ] 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


211 


mize both time and magnetism, I will answer questions 
now as you ask them, and so impart knowledge in the 
most brief and pointed manner.” 

“ Well, who are you ?” asked Kate, somewhat timidly. 

“ I am your guide, placed over you for your instruct- 
ing and directing.” 

‘‘ Does every one have a guide ?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ When did you become my guide ?” 

“ At your birth.” 

“ Are guides sent to every one at birth ?” 

No, generally at the awakening of consciousness. 
The mental condition of the parents determine that. 
I have seen guides appointed at birth. Such children 
always make remarkable persons in some particular, 
for, however gifted and talented the parents may be, the 
guide is not appointed immediately upon birth unless, 
as I say, the child is intended for some great work. On 
the other hand, the guide may not be appointed till the 
child is one or two or more years old, as when a child 
is born out of wedlock, of degenerate or of mismated 
parents.” 

“ What do you mean by mismated parents ?” 

“ Persons who failed to marry in accordance with the 
plan of life. The perfect plan is set at time of birth. 
Persons selected for each other by the guides sometimes 
fail to unite in wedlock through worldly considera- 
tions of wealth, station, vanity, etc., overcoming the 
guide’s influence, particularly when the plan of life had 
theretofore been departed from. Such mismated cou- 
ples either produce no offspring at all, which is fre- 
quently the penalty, or, producing them, they are in- 
ferior mentally and physically, exhibiting retrogression 
generally, from the degree attained by either of the 


212 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


parents. Where the parents have been designed for 
each other, the converse is true; they are fruitful, and 
the children an advancement in the scale of develop- 
ment, an improvement upon the parents mentally and 
physically.” 

“ How is one to know who is designed to meet one 
in wedlock ?” 

“ The course of life is so directed that, however remote 
or far apart may be their native places, they eventually 
encounter each other, thus furnishing the opportunity, 
which is furthermore aided and abetted by the guide’s 
influence. There is one physical indication which may 
be generally relied upon as significant of mismated 
union: the age of the wife exceeding that of the hus- 
band. This is very rare in rightly mated unions, being 
permitted or designed only in instances as compensa- 
tion, as where, v. g., the husband is weak minded.” 

“ How is it that children born out of wedlock are in- 
ferior ?” 

“ Through the low grade of the guide — those of high 
grade never being appointed to such. When apparent 
exceptions occur, the explanation is that the parents 
were designed for each other, but failed to unite in 
wedlock, and furthermore, when the mental quality, 
although possibly high for such conditions, is sure to 
be attended by low moral tendencies.” 

“ I was designed to be a nun, wasn’t I ?” 

“ No.” ; 

“ Why, was anyone ever selected for me ?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Have I ever met him ?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Can you tell me who it was ?” 

Yes, the young farmer who lived not far from your 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


213 


home with his mother and sister. This is a subject 
which I would not have selected for your first lesson, 
but you should know it and, perhaps, it is as well to 
have it explained now.” 

It was, however, very interesting to Kate, and as she 
learned it, her mind reverted to the circumstances at- 
tending her own course of life. 

“ Were my parents designed for each other ?” 

“ They were.” 

“ Is the guide the same for each of persons designed 
for each other ?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ For those not designed for each other ?” 

“ No, in such cases the husband’s guide and the wife’s 
guide are apt to be at variance on many subjects and 
that leads to trouble. One of the guides, however, may 
so dominate the other that there is practically only one. 
Or the guide of one, for selfish purposes, may yield so 
much to the other that the directing influence is single.” 

“ Were you ever on earth, a person, as I am?” 

“ Yes. I was an English potentate more than two 
hundred years ago. In becoming your guide, my pur- 
pose was to compensate, through you, for the wrongs 
done in the flesh to the people of Ireland, from whom 
you are descended.” 

“ Why, what can you ever hope to do through me ?” 

“ I intend that you shall become a great reformer, by 
teaching the great truths of life as they will be given to 
you by me.” 

“Dear me,” said Kate, “this seems preposterous! 
I am certain you have made a very poor selection.” 

Turning, however, from that, she went on : 

“ Is my little brother here to-day ?” 

“ Yes, but not so little as you think him to bq,” 


214 


KATHERINE BARRY, 


“ Why, he was only twelve when he died.” 

“ True, but there is nothing absolutely stationary or 
fixed in the universe. The changes of growth attend 
here as on earth. Your brother has developed a fine 
specimen of manhood.” 

“ Do they become old and feeble over there ?” 

“No, the young and undeveloped, as they attain to 
favorable conditions, grow on to maturity and perfect 
development, and the old and decrepit recover the con- 
ditions of their prime.” 

“ How could father recognize him then ?” 

“For such meetings the form is temporarily assumed 
under which they formerly knew each other.” 

“ Is that true, too, of little babes who die twenty or 
thirty years before their parents ?” 

“ It is.” 

“ Who looks after the little things when they die ?” 

“ Relatives already here, or persons delegated for 
that purpose.” 

“ But, not knowing them, I should think they would 
shrink from such strangers.” 

“They would, and are therefore first met by little 
children of their own age who beguile them, as only 
such little tots can, till they come to know those who 
are to have charge of them.” 

“ Are they sometimes brought back to see their 
mothers ?” 

“Yes, often daily at first, or till they become attached 
to those about them here.” 

“ What do the little things do as they are growing 
up ?” 

“ They acquire knowledge by learning and by experi- 
ence, as you do on earth,” 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


215 

“ Do you mean to say that they learn to read and 
write, etc., as we do here ?” 

“Yes, in order to advance in knowledge and wisdom, 
the same as with you,” 

“ Must adults, too, who die illiterate, begin like chil- 
dren with the primer ?” 

“ Certainly, there is no other way to begin.” 

“ Then all, over there, are at least able to read and 
write ?” 

“ Oh no, in the first sphere, and in the third grade 
of the second, there may be any number of illiterates — 
none, however, above these.” 

“ Is all knowledge, therefore, acquired here, useful 
and helpful there ?” 

“Yes, all right knowledge.” 

“How ?” 

“ To instruct others and to aid in the discovery of new 
truths, and in the promotion of true knowledge.” 

“ Then knowledge comes to you over there as it does 
to us here ?” 

“Yes, by study and investigation.” 

“ How avails it over there if I know how to do a diffi- 
cult embroidery or a certain lace ?” 

“You not only can instruct others, but furthermore, 
anything you have learned to accomplish on earth, you 
can produce at will over here, as in embroidery, a paint- 
ing, a gown or a pudding. By a mere act of the will 
you produce them here.” 

“ And what I have not learned to do here, I must, 
over there, begin with as a beginner and learn how to 
accomplish it before I can produce it ?” 

“ Exactly, I am pleased that you understand me so 
well.” 

Do you see my father, often 


2i6 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


“No, not often. I could only see him if he should be 
here on any occasion, or if I should go on some duty to 
his sphere. Spirits can not enter spheres above them, 
but those of any sphere can visit those below them.” 

“ Well, if my father wishes to communicate anything, 
will you write it for him ?” 

“ He will develop faster to help himself, but in any 
measure beyond his strength, I shall be ready to aid.” 

“ Is he happy ?” 

“ He is comfortable and as happy as one may be in the 
second sphere.” 

“ What do you mean by the second sphere ?” 

“ The place in spirit life next higher than the first 
sphere.” 

“ How many spheres are there ?” 

“ Seven, in regular order, from first up to and includ- 
ing the seventh, which is the sphere of the perfect.” 

“Are these spheres states of existence, of environ- 
ment, or are they real places ?” 

“ They are well-defined places, often millions of miles 
apart.” 

“ Is the seventh sphere heaven ?” 

“ It comports with your idea of heaven.” 

“ What is the first sphere ?” 

“ The abode of unrepentant persons who died in sin.” 

“As they repent and become better, do they go to 
the second ?” 

“Yes, by gradation.” 

“ What do yon mean by that ?” 

“ Each sphere is divided into three grades numbered 
first, second and third. Of these grades, the third is 
the lowest, and advancement is by progressing to the 
second, then to the first, and thence, by advancing to the 


Katherine barry. 217 

next higher sphere where entrance is again at the third 
or lowest grade, and so on upward.” 

“ Do they ever retrograde, that is, having attained 
a certain sphere, fall back to a lower one again ?” 

“ Certainly.” 

“ How ?” 

“ By their own fault, by indolence, by selfishness, — by 
sinning as on earth.” 

“ And are the spirits there capable of sinning !” 

“ Oh yes, and punishments are more severe for sins 
committed after death. These lapses may occur at any 
stage previous to the seventh sphere. There is perfec- 
tion, and failure is impossible.” 

“ Is the first sphere like what we call hell ?” 

“ Worse. It varies, however, as such grades.” 

“ Are those in the third or lowest grade of the first 
sphere very miserable ?” 

“ Yes, beyond mortal comprehension.” 

“ What is the principal feature of such misery ?” 

“ Gnawing anguish over sins which were the blackest 
possible.” 

“ Are there any evil spirits ?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ What are they ?” 

“ They are the spirits of wicked persons who died in 
sin and have never repented. When I say, have not re- 
pented, don’t understand that repentance alone advances 
them. It is only the first condition of improvement, 
and leads to restitution and all that equity or justice re- 
quires.” 

“ Are there many evil spirits ?” 

“ Legions.” 

“ Where are they ?” 

“ Their abode is the first sphere.” 


2i8 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


“ Never in any other ?” 

“ No.” 

“ Do any of them ever repent, become better and 
progress higher ?” 

“ Some do.” 

“ Do some continue to offend God by sinning ?” 

“Yes, and as I said before, such sinning is followed 
by punishments more dire than for sins of earth life.” 

“ Do evil spirits affect or interfere with mortals ?” 

“ Yes.” 

“How ?” 

“ By inducing insanity, lusts of the flesh, inordinate 
love of money or of power to their ultimate undoing.” 

“ Why! I’ve read that insanity is a disease!” 

“ It certainly is a disease or, rather, the result of dis- 
ease, and the view of it held on earth by scientific men of 
the medical profession is generally correct; but there 
are instances where disease and impairment of function 
would not necessarily be attended or followed by insan- 
ity were it not for the interference of these evil spirits, 
who find in the disordered organism the material op- 
portunity of conditions for interference.” 

“ May not evil spirits come about me here ?” 

“We would not let them stay — they know better than 
to come.” 

“ Then a strong or high guide can limit their opera- 
tions ?” 

“Well, yes; a guide from the higher spheres has no 
trouble in protecting his ward from evil spirits.” 

“ How does he do it ?” 

“ That is easy enough, for evil spirits are all cowards.” 

“ Do these spirits of first sphere ever plead excuse 
of ignorance ?” 

^ “In the second grade, also in the first, but not in the 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


2ig 

thiid — there we hear no excuses. Repentance may 
come there, but excuses later. Until they repent, they 
only curse and complain.” 

“ Can spirits affect or direct thoughts of men ?” 

“Yes, that is what occurs in so-called inspiration, 
although it may be done in ways far more subtle.” 

“ Are good thoughts apt to be from good spirits ?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ And bad ones from evil spirits ?” 

“ Not always. Bad thoughts may be stirred by phys- 
ical environment operating upon an. organism depraved 
or degererate. Now my child, let that suffice for to- 
day. I tave drawn rather heavily upon your magnet- 
ism, and therefore should stop now till you are rested 
— to-morrow, or your next opportunity.” 

“ Tell me before you go, please, what you mean by 
magnetism.” 

“ By magnetism I designate a force, a resultant of 
electrical conditions of the body, which we utilize in all 
manifestations, as in this writing, in rapping, in slate 
writing, ir materialization, etc., etc. It varies very 
greatly in quality, being much finer or more abundant 
in some persons than in others. It is also to be 
found in brutes, but comparatively much coarser in 
quality, although as between it and that of very degen- 
erate persons the difference may not be so great. It is 
greatly prized by spirits interested at all in work 
upon the earth, because it can be utilized in so many 
ways, as, to give strength, to promote or to restore 
health, etc., of their earth friends or favorites, 
and for such ends I have seen unscrupulous spirits 
stealthily extracting it from the persons of those upon 
whom they had no claim in order to bestow it upon their 
own wards or earth friends. Furthermore, I have seen 


520 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


spirits, when hard pressed for want of it, take the gross 
magnetism of brutes and use it in strengthening or in 
assisting their earth favorites, or for some of the cruder 
forms of manifestations. The magnetism of persons on 
earth varies in appearance as well as in quality, that 
eminating from the clean of heart and mind, the un- 
selfish, the truly refined and the rightly cultivated, being 
whiter than snow and brighter than the sun — too beau- 
tiful for description, and visible to us spirits at great 
distance. In some cases, as for instance yours, even 
when drawn upon till quite used up, it is supplied again 
in a short time, much as a good well will quickly refill 
after having been drawn upon to the last 1)ucketful. 
Now, take a little rest, and then go into the open air for 
a while, and may God bless you.’* 


CHAPTER XXVII. 


As Kate walked in the flower garden the next morn- 
ing, there was a nervousness in her movement that re- 
flected the perplexed activity of her mind. What if all 
this message should be true, she thought. If I am con- 
tent to take the writer at his or her word, then I am 
easily satisfled, sure enough. But what else can I do ? 
for where shall I seek confirmation or verification of 
what it says ? It can not be bad, that’s certain, anyway, 
for the writing went on even when the paper actually 
touched the holy water bottle ! It does not seem intent 
on evil, for everything written so far is expressive of 
good purpose, and it seems just as religious in language 
as Mother Superior is, and calls me “my child,” just as 
she does. What would she say if she knew all this ? 
How I do wish I might tell her! Maybe it will come 
out so I can before long. The ‘ ‘ young farmer ” is Frank 
Dunn plain enough — and it was designed that I should 
have married him ! Well, well ! I wonder if that can 
be true ! If it is, how was it ever designed that I should 
be here ! Really, it is the strangest thing ! I wonder if 
I should go and tell Father Vincent all about it ! I am 
more than half inclined to, for it may be some decep- 
tion to lead me away to my destruction. I will wait till 
he, she or it comes to write again, and then I’ll ask 
something about my father or brother that will settle 
it as good or bad. Perhaps they may come, and I can 
ask them themselves, and then I shall know. 

[ 221 ] 


22i 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


Four days, however, passed before another oppor- 
tunity presented to take up the writing again. Kate 
had appeared so improved to the Superior, that she di- 
rected the doing of many things which could not be 
postponed longer. She was beginning to be impatient, 
because now, after three weeks’ confinement, the doctor 
discovered there was no indication of union, and a 
new device must be employed to keep the fractured 
surfaces in closer apposition. Her impatience was not 
over her personal discomfort under confinement, but 
because she must yet be so long restrained from look- 
ing after so many things which required her personal 
attention. She must intrust more and more to her 
secretary, and thus it was that Kate’s time was so occu- 
pied in the days following the writing. 

However, one afternoon, with her work done early 
and out of the way, Kate sat down to the writing again, 
and the instant she submitted her hand upon the paper, 
the preliminary circular movement began. 

“ How is it,” began Kate, “ that you are here to write 
the moment I sit down for it ?” 

“ Because I am generally near you.” 

“ Is your abode near where we are ?” 

“ Where I can watch over you.’ 

“ But yet a good ways off ?” 

“Yes, but I come as quick as thought.” 

“ What kind of questions do you prefer I should ask ?” 

“ Ask such questions as pertain to heavenly truths 

let common sense be the basis of your questioning.” 

“ What are those lights I see so often ?” 

“ Generally they are glimpses of my raiment, but you 
have also seen some that were the partially successful 
efforts of some of our helpers to manifest their faces.” 

“We thought they were miraculous !” 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


223 


They may appear as such to those who do not com- 
prehend. But a miracle, in the sense of a suspension 
of the laws of nature, has never yet been accomplished 
and never will be. Whatever appears miraculous, is 
accepted as such simply because the principle underly- 
ing it is not understood. Every manifestation of spirit 
power is accomplished by the scientific manipulation 
of natural forces in strict accordance with the laws gov- 
erning throughout the universe. Nature’s laws toler- 
ate no exception anywhere. All those phenomena 
which have been accepted as miracles, and are regarded 
with religious reverence as such, even to this day, were 
accomplished through processes as scientific as any 
which take place in the chemist’s laboratory. In con- 
vents and monasteries, where the simple diet and regu- 
lar lives of the inmates favor it, such exhibitions through 
spirit agency have often occurred, and the name of many 
a ‘ saint ’ has been associated with a miracle which, had 
the laws underlying the ‘ appearance ’ been understood, 
would have been regarded in a different light altogether.” 

“ Your raiment must be beautiful if it is all like the 
little I saw of it.” 

“ That is my home raiment, but I do not always wear 
it when outside.” 

“ What sphere are you in ?” 

“ Sixth.” 

“ What is the manner of a spirit’s advancement from 
one sphere to another ?” 

“ Most unexpected and sudden. Often when most 
discouraged, we hear the welcome : ‘ Come up higher.’ ” 

“ Are those spheres planets like our earth here ?” 

“ More wonderful than your question would suggest. 
You must not think they are worlds of material, like the 
one you now occupy, nor are they simply states.” 


224 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


“ I noticed several times that you seemed to hesitate 
over the spelling of a word, and sometimes misspelled; 
how is that ?” 

“ For a period of about three hundred years I have 
never once tried to communicate or to associate with 
mortals, only as I watched over you.” 

“ Do you have houses there ?” 

“ Yes, too beautiful for description here.” 

“ Do the guides prepare the houses or homes in ad- 
vance for us ?” 

“They assist: your deeds, good or bad, determine 
where your home will be, and what your house shall be.” 

“ Are the dwellings in the first sphere as good as ours 
here on earth ?” 

“Much inferior: in the third grade they are filthy 
hovels, and the clothing and all the surroundings like- 
wise filthy, offensive and wretched.” 

“ Is there any happiness even in the first grade of the 
first sphere ?” 

“Not much, but there has been an awakening. They 
see the errors which caused their degradation.” 

“ Do spirits experience sensations of heat and cold, 
of being wet or dry, etc.?” 

“Yes, just as you do — I mean when here on earth. 
In our higher spirit homes it is always equable.” 

“ Is the clothing worn by spirits for any practical 
purpose ?” 

“ Most assuredly; what else is it for ? Do you think 
the foolish mock modesty of mortals would here find 
favor ?” 

“ Do you understand music ?” 

“No, but I like to hear it.” 

“ Can you explain how sounds produced by a physical 


KATHERINE BARRY. 225 

iiechanical instrument can affect your spiritual bodies 
so as to be heard ?” 

“ Particles aerial are displaced, causing thereby vibra- 
tions which are as perceptible to us as to you. Let such 
questions, unless very necessary, wait till later.” 

“ Did you know anything of spirit manifestation 
when in earth life ?” 

“No: many things which I then looked upon as sin 
I see here were only my own misguided ideas.” 

“ Were you not therefore surprised to find it all so 
different upon going over ?” 

“Yes, I was first shocked, then indescribably relieved 
and happy beyond conception of mortal man.” 

“ Is it usual for spirits to surround a deathbed ?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ For what purpose ?” 

“ To welcome the spirit, to guide and instruct it.” 

“ What does one first behold, after death ?” 

“ Generally what the eyes closed upon in death is the 
first seen in spirit life. To this, of course, must be added 
the presence of friends gone before. If the one dying 
is unconscious for some time, he or she may be conveyed 
to the new home ere the eyes open in consciousness, 
and, to avoid shock, a duplicate of the earth chamber 
may be fitted up in which to meet the friends on the 
return of consciousness, and that, gradually, the spirit 
may be introduced to its new surroundings.” 

“ Is the spirit, on passing over, generally first met by 
the guide ?” 

“No; the nearest and dearest friends are usually 
the first to meet it. The guide is there, but can you 
imagine a more unpleasant condition than, upon passing 
over, to be first met by a stranger ?” 

“ Then they don’t go right before God to be judged ?” 


226 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


“ Oh no; they are ‘ judged ’ by their own deeds, from 
which there is no escaping.” 

“ Is it not of great helpful value to have a good guide 
— I mean one from higher spheres ?” 

“Yes, all you can imagine.” 

“Is it a fair inference because a man is successful, 
great or famous in this world, that his guide is of a 
high order ?” 

“No, not always. I have seen troops of helpers and 
self-appointed guides, several thousand in number, at- 
tendant upon a single mortal who from the world’s 
standpoint was considered great or successful. But 
they were moved by selfish motives, as was the man also, 
and their help only promoted a great life error.” 

“ What kind of spirits are the most frequent here 
upon the earth ?” 

“ Second sphere spirits — ^in this country chiefi-/ of 
Indians who formerly lived here.” 

“ Why do they remain about the earth ?” 

“ To obtain the experience and knowledge that was 
not theirs in earth life.” 

“ Do Indians have Indian spirit guides 

“ Yes.” 

“ Who are the guides of the colored people ?” 

“ Spirits of colored people in our world.” 

“ Do all spirits know the things you have written 
me ?” 

“No, I have given instruction to you which is as 
new to lower sphere spirits as it is to you. I assure 
you it is not always an easy matter to make clear to 
them, for those second sphere spirits are sometimes 
very obtuse.” 

“ Those are the spirits who sometime^ retrograde, I 
suppose ?” 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


227 


“ Even regularly appointed guides may retrograde, 
and their lapsing is the true explanation, oftener than the 
world suspects, of why some persons fall into some vice 
previously unknown, as drunkenness, or, debauchery, 
or other sudden turn to an evil course.” 

“ Why do those in lower spheres presume to become 
guides before they are sufficiently advanced to be wise 
and strong ?” 

“ Because they are over desirous of experience, perhaps 
conceited, or maybe they think that by rendering such 
service they can further their own interests. But any 
labor, whatever, with such element of selfishness in it, 
is sure to be lost.” 

“ May not a low sphere guide, because well disposed 
and progressive, be a good guide, lacking only in ad- 
vantages of learning, experience and discipline ?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ What is the most efficient means to promotion or 
advancement there ?” 

“ The helping of others.” 

“ What most of all retards or opposes improvement 
and advancement ?” 

“ Selfishness.” , 

“ Is the spirit of my brother here ?” 

“Yes, he is with you a great deal. He likes to be 
near you, and besides, he has his earth lessons — ex- 
perience to acquire.” 

“ Can he write through my hand, as you do ?” 

“ He is learning, and may do so soon. It was he, 
assisted by others, who did the rapping a while ago, 
hoping to be able, thereby, to forewarn you of your 
father’s approaching death.” 

“ Are there many spirits about on the earth 
Myriads,” 


228 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


“ Are they everywhere, indoors and out ?” 

“Yes, no wall is so thick and no lock so fast as to 
limit or confine them.” 

“ Then, they may witness what is done in secret ?” 

‘ Yes, there is no place, however inclosed, and no spot 
however dark, but has its ‘ cloud of witnesses.’ No one 
is ever anywhere absolutely alone.” 

“ Do evil spirits ever take possession of animals or 
birds or insects to annoy ?” 

“Not that I know of.” 

“ Are whirlwinds and tempests ever the work of evil 
spirits ?” 

“ No, they are the result of irregularities of Nature.” 

“ Have men always been influenced by spirits ?” 

“Yes, by dreams and visions when there was no 
other mode of communication.” 

“ Did I understand you to say that our sins came from 
within, or are they suggested by evil spirits ?” 

“ Most small sins and shortcomings are from within. 
If an evil spirit can not get possession of a person, we 
can not always prevent its making evil suggestions, 
for,' example :you have a child, you love it, it is your 
duty ta protect it, even if for no other reason. The 
child comes in contact with a bad child. You can easily 
say: come, you must not go with nor like that child. 
So far, your task is an easy one. But now comes the 
time to exercise care, oftentimes great caution, for the 
evil child likes your child, and feeling piqued that you 
will not countenance its faults, it is continually about, 
trying to influence your child, maybe only by a word, 
yet that word awakens more of evil in your child than 
you have ever seen in it before.” 

“ What do you think of the course of life I have 
chosen V* 


KATHERINE BARRY 229 

** I am glad that you did not ask that question earlier, 
because when I tell you now, how grieved and disap- 
pointed I was by your coming here, you will better un- 
derstand the reasons therefor. By confining yourself 
here, you deprive yourself of the varied earth experience 
which is essential to your unfoldment and development. 
Remember that the sum of experience must be the 
same for all, and what you fail to acquire during earth 
life you must obtain at great disadvantage after you 
have left this plane. I exerted my influence to the 
utmost to prevent you coming to this place, but so great 
was the counter-influence of others, chiefly ignorant 
Catholics, that my work counted for little. One of the 
objects I had in mind in establishing this form of 
communication was to be enabled, thereby, to rescue 
you from this foolish elimination of yourself from the 
world and its lessons, so essential to your welfare 
hereafter.” 

“ Why, who do you mean by ‘ ignorant Catholics ?’ ” 

“ I mean the spirits of those who were Catholics in 
earth life, and who are Catholics yet, over here.” 

“ Why, you astonish me !” 

“ Oh, yes, there are Catholics and Protestants, Jews 
and atheists, agnostics and fanatics, just the same as 
on earth— I should say, of course, in the lower spheres.” 

“ Well, I am surprised!” 

“ You would not be if you really knew how very truly 
death is merely a change from one condition of existence 
to another. Death adds nothing to one’s knowledge, 
and deprives it of nothing. It is simply a change of 
habitat, so to speak, often so slight at first sight that, 
after having passed over, one may not be able for some 
time to realize that the ‘ portals of death ’ have indeed 
been passed.” 


230 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


“ Do you have churches, too, over there ?” 

“Yes, and preachers and preaching in second and 
third spheres.” 

“ What is your religion ?” 

“ Well, the helping of others to the end that they may 
help themselves or, to express it otherwise, the father- 
hood of God and the brotherhood of man.” 

“ What would you advise me to do now ?” 

“ To leave this place, and to abandon this convent 
life without delay, and to return courageously to your 
proper held in the world. When you have done this, I 
shall take up your instruction and direct you further. 
Go at once — ^lose no time in thinking of it; this is my 
urgent request and the prayerful wish of your brother 
as he stands here at your side. Go, as you prize your 
opportunities in this world, your welfare and happiness 
in the next, and may God bless you ?” 

“ Should I explain to the Superior why I go ?” 

“ I think it would be useless to attempt it, but if you 
prefer to try, you may do so. Good-bye for this time. 
Be of good heart, and remember that in every trial 
there am I at your side to do all in my power to help 
you.” 


CHAPTER XXVin. 


When Kate retired to her narrow iron cot that night, 
thoughts crowding each other kept sleep in waiting 
till long after midnight. When at length, and after 
many efforts to induce it, her eyes closed in forgetful- 
ness, she slept uneasily and so lightly that at early dawn, 
on the first stroke of the matin bell, she was awake again 
in a world which, to her vision, had undergone such a 
change that the most familiar things about her appeared 
altered in the new light in which she now saw everthing. 
The ordinary aspect of all about her was lost, even the 
tones of the angelus bell seemed changed or strange, 
and the sisters, going to and fro, like persons hardly 
known, among whom she seemed to be and yet not of 
them. 

Upon going up to the infirmary after breakfast for 
her assignment for the day, she found the Superior as 
gracious as ever, and, fortunately, a short task awaiting 
her. “ Do not remain indoors so much, my child,” she 
said to Kate, “ for it seems to me you do not look so well 
lately.” Assuring her that she was very well, but had 
not slept so restfully as usual last night, Kate went to 
her room and seated herself at her work with a strange 
feeling of irksomeness. All else but the new communi- 
cations seemed dull and commonplace, and her interest 
and her thoughts were held, to the exclusion nearly of 
every other thing, by this wonderful revelation ! It 
all appeared so reasonable, so in accordance with jus- 

[231] 


232 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


tice, so probable, even so true, that she found herself 
accepting it more and more, and directing her thoughts 
and her plans conformably thereto. If she left the con- 
vent, where would she go ? Not to her people, surely — 
at least, not at once, for she clearly anticipated how they 
would regard such a step. Of her old friends and ac- 
quaintances in Plainfield, there was hardly one to whom 
she could in confidence turn under conditions like 
these confronting her. However, she had very little 
money yet of her own, and she must, for a time at 
least, count on the friendly hospitality of some one. 
She would write to Mr. Ryan, the old shoemaker at 
Plainfield, an old-time friend of her father and mother, 
and who, accompanied by his wife, took “harvest din- 
ner ” at the old homestead on an occasion heretofore 
referred to. If she might stay with them for a little, 
she felt sure she would soon find something to do to 
support herself, probably by getting together a class 
in music. 

Acting at once on the thought, she sent a letter to Mr. 
Ryan, and a day later received a reply in which, al- 
though kind and well-intended, there was nevertheless 
so much of advice — of protest against the step which 
would bring “shame and disgrace to herself and her 
family,” that the meagre assurance of their welcome 
at the end of the letter was not sufficient to soothe the 
wound it gave her pride. So confidently had she counted 
upon unqualified welcome, that she was greatly disap- 
pointed, having permitted herself to so proceed with 
her mental preparations for abandoning the convent 
that her plans were ready for action on the arrival of 
the letter. She had concluded that it was useless for 
her to remain, for her heart was no longer in the work. 
How could it be! Even her own dear brother prayed 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


233 


for her relinquishment of it ! If she was designed to be 
a wife, and to fill a useful place in the world, why should 
she hide herself away from it ? She never shrank from 
duty, as she recognized it, and she would not now. 
She would take her place in the world, and she only 
wished that she might, by placing her new light before 
the Superior and the sisters, send them to their appro- 
priate places in the world, to their great advantage 
also. If they knew the half of what she had learned, 
the convent would soon be empty. 

Repulsed by old Mr. Ryan’s pious exhortation to 
“keep her place with the holy nuns,” she began to con- 
sider anew the difficulty which confronted her at her 
first step. Would it do to write to Doctor Agens ? He 
surely would not be likely to urge against her proposi- 
tion any advice to remain in the convent if she preferred 
to leave, and he would not consider her a disgrace to 
herself nor to any one else. Why did she not think of 
that before! They were just the people who would 
receive her, and with whom she would like to be, for 
was there ever a better hearted soul than Mrs. Agens, 
and the doctor too, for that matter! Yes, she would- 
write them at once, and ask them to answer immedi- 
ately, and if the reply was favorable, she could yet start 
so as to reach Plainfield before Sunday. She was 
aware of the probability of the letter lying in the post 
office a day or two before being called for or taken over 
to Cook’s Corners, and she was therefore prepared 
to understand delay that might keep her waiting till 
the week following, but she would send it and hope for 
its direct delivery. As promptly as came the reply 
from Mr. Ryan, so came the reply written, by Mrs. 
Agens, breathing in every line their welcome and ex- 
pressing their pleasure in anticipation of seeing her. 


234 


KATHERINE BARRY, 


and of having her with them. “ The doctor says,” 
wrote Mrs. Agens, “ that he never did approve of your 
being a nun — he says : ‘ let the homely old maids be the 
nuns.’ ” The letter stated furthermore, that Ralph 
would meet her with a team at High Falls, if she would 
telegraph the time of her expected arrival there. 

This letter reached her in the evening, and after 
supper she went up to the storeroom and asked sister 
Alberta for her hand bag which, with the trunks and 
satchels brought by the sisters at their coming, were 
stored away in an apartment there for that purpose. 
As she handed the bag to Kate, Alberta looked at her 
with questioning eyes, but said nothing, for she had 
not so forgotten her resolution as to question her in a mat- 
ter like this. Taking the bag to her room, Kate puf into 
it her few belongings, together with the little French 
clock, and placing it under her desk, she felt sure at last, 
that now she was ready to get away on the minute. 
She had decided, after thinking of it, that she would 
go without any explanation to the Superior whatever. 
She knew how utterly she would fail in any attempt to 
justify her course without being privileged to explain 
all by revealing the source of her new information, and 
even submitting the writing itself, which she would be 
asked to do but which, of course, she could not. It 
would be better to go without any explanation at all 
than to attempt one and fail, and failing, to go neverthe- 
less. She regretted that she must leave the Superior 
when, crippled as she was, she depended upon her assist- 
ance so much, but, of course, the place would at once be 
filled by one of the sisters. Anyway, if the Superior’s 
favor and her own tenure of the position rested, even 
to a limited degree, upon the Superior’s belief that she 
had been signally favored by visions of miraculous 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


235 


lights, and she felt certain that it did, she would feel 
relieved to know that some one else was placed in it> 
now that there was no miracle about it. 

Thus, with everything in readiness and before re- 
tiring, she wrote a note for the Superior, briefly stating 
that she was returning to the world, thanking her for 
all her kindness, and bidding her good-bye. With this 
under her pillow she sought sleep, keeping fixed in her 
mind the determination to awaken at four o’clock in 
order to take the early morning train for High Falls. 
But nearly an hour before that time, she awoke with 
a start and in fear that she had overslept. Reassured 
by the dormitory clock, she tried to rest yet another 
half hour, but soon becoming too nervous and too 
anxious to remain longer, she arose and began to make 
ready slowly and quietly for her departure. When 
carefully dressed and all ready, she stole downstairs 
on tiptoe, and noiselessly unlocking the office door, 
entered and placed the letter for the Superior upon her 
desk there. Then, taking her bag from the desk in 
the next room, she returned to the hall, and, as she was 
hurrying toward the front door, she saw old sister John 
the bell-ringer of the convent, coming toward her from 
the far end with her little brass lantern in her hand. 
For a moment she hesitated between returning to the 
office till the sister passed or hastening so as to reach 
the short cross hall which led to the main entrance, 
before the sister saw her. Running forward with no 
fear of being heard, for old sister John was as deaf 
as a post, she turned quickly into the cross section, and 
hastily drawing the great bolts of the front door, she 
set the spring or day-lock which secured the entrance, 
as she drew the door shut behind her, and hastened 
away down the drivewaj^, 


236 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


After a little waiting in the station, during which she 
sent forward a telegram informing the doctor of the 
hour of her tram’s arrival, she entered one of the coaches 
after the train, with much puffing and swinging of lan- 
terns, had backed into the station, and taking a seat 
near the middle of the long row, empty at that jearly 
hour, she was soon speeding through the dawn past 
sleepy looking farmhouses and over stretches of barren 
fields toward High Falls. As the rising sun, a little 
later, dried up the white night-fog that lay along the 
valley bottom, the prospect from her window, widening 
and brightening, drew her thoughts from herself and 
the events which had absorbed her mind for several 
days. With a comforting sense of her changed sur- 
roundings, she became composed, and a little later 
drowsy, and then, falling asleep with her hand bag for 
a pillow, she slumbered through the balance of her 
journey, or until she was roused by the conductor as 
the train was approaching High Falls. 

As she stepped from the train she saw Ralph await- 
ing her on the platform. 

“ Hello Kate,” said he, coming forward with a boyish 
smile brightening his ruddy face, “ how d’ye do ?” 

“ Pretty well, Ralph — how do you do ? How long 
have you been waiting ?” 

“ Oh, ’bout an hour,” he answered. 

“ Well, come; let us have something to eat — I’m hun- 
gry,” and crosssing to a restaurant opposite the station, 
they lunched leisurely and talked of Plainfield happen- 
ings until Ralph, looking round at the clock on the 
wall behind him, said: “ I guess we’d better be goin’,” 
whereupon they went out to where the horse was tied 
in the rear of the station, and drove away towards 
Cook’s Corners, where they arrived a little before dark. 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


237 


The doctor and Mrs. Agens gave Kate cordial welcome 
and, as they all sat down to the supper awaiting Kate’s 
arrival, the doctor said that, “ except for appearing a 
little tired, Kate looked as fine as ever.” 

“ Thank you, doctor,” she replied, “ I don’t know 
why I should look any worse than usual for my stay 
at the convent, I am but little older, and my duties 
there were not such as to leave me bent or broken.” 

“ Oh, I know,” returned the doctor, good na- 
turedly, “but nuneries are not good conservatories 
of beauty, or else the inmates were originally so home- 
ly they turned to God when disregarded by man,” add- 
ing with a chuckle, “ like the bad penny.” 

At Mrs. Agens’ suggestion, Kate retired early, be- 
cause “ traveling tired anybody half to death,” and she 
wanted Kate to be well rested for “good, hard visiting 
to-morrow, to make up for lost time.” 

“Yes,” added the doctor, “ I suppose she has learned 
such long prayers at the convent that she must begin 
early or go to bed late.” 

“ Oh, no, doctor,” returned Kate, “ I do not believe 
that praying is all there is of life.” 

“Good!” he exclaimed, as he stamped his cane on 
the floor, “if you learned that and nothing more, your 
time at the convent has not been thrown away.” 

When Kate came downstairs next morning, rested 
and refreshed by a good night’s sleep, she found Mrs. 
Agens in the dining-room arranging the dishes of but- 
tered toast and eggs and hot Johnny cake upon the table, 
which Sara had just brought in from the kitchen. 

“Well, good-morning!” she called out cheerily, “I 
heard you stirring, and so I told Sara to bring in the 
breakfast, for I knew you would be down in a minute.” 

^‘Good-morning!” returned Kate, “you are as good 


238 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


and thoughtful as ever, Mrs. Agens,” as she seated her- 
self opposite. 

As Mrs. Agens proceeded to turn the coffee, Kate 
asked : “ Where’s the doctor ?” 

“ Oh, he’s had to go on a call and couldn’t wait, and 
so I told him I’d wait and breakfast with you. Ralph, 
he’s gone to Plainfield on an errand and so we’ve got 
all the time there is to visit to ourselves.” 

Then, after saying how greatly the breaking up of 
Kate’s old home was regretted by the community, 
she gave a running account of the principal events of 
the place during the past year. Of all this there was 
nothing which so shocked and sadly interested Kate 
as what she was told of the downward career of John 
Harmon. Soon after she had left Plainfield for the con- 
vent, he began to drink, and rapidly giving way more 
and more to the habit, he neglected his business which 
soon after neglected him, and falling lower and lower, 
became such a blear-eyed, besotted habitue of the village 
barrooms, so changed from what he used to be, and so 
repulsive, that his former friends — even the doctor — 
could not tolerate him longer. Although she might 
also have given a bit of interesting information con- 
cerning Frank Dunn, she refrained from doing so, 
probably out of consideration for Kate’s feelings. 

In reply to Mrs. Agens’ eager questions, Kate recited 
her experiences at the convent, describing the internal 
arrangement of the place, its management, etc., and gave 
her impressions of the institution and of its inmates. 
Mrs. Agens was greatly interested in the conduct of 
the departments, the division of labor and the order 
and discipline, all under the single management of the 
Superior. 

Why, she must be a real smart kind of a woman, 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


239 


to do all that!” she exclaimed. “ I wonder how such 
a woman can throw her life away in a convent, when she 
probably might marry and have a good home of her 
own.” 

“ Oh, she thinks she is doing a much better work than 
housekeeping for herself,” returned Kate. 

When the doctor returned about noon, Kate went 
over much of the same ground again in reply to his 
inquiries, and then proceeded to give him a minute 
account of the wonderful writing. As she entered upon 
the subject, the doctor listened with a curious look in 
his eyes, as much as to say : now here is some hysteri- 
cal nonsense ; but as she proceeded he became seri- 
ously interested, and asked her to read to him something 
of it, just as she had received it. Running upstairs, she 
took the manuscript from her hand bag, and return- 
ing to the doctor, began to read from the beginning of 
it. Before she had proceeded far, he stopped her and, 
calling to Mrs. Agens, he said : “ Come here and listen to 
this — here’s something that beats old Mrs. Carter’s cup- 
tossing!” As Kate read on, Mrs. Agens exclaimed at 
intervals: “Well, did you ever!” while the doctor as 
often struck the floor with his cane and gave an em- 
phatic nod of his head as if in approval. When she 
had finished, the doctor asked: “You didn’t make that 
up out of your own head, did you ?” with a quizzical 
look in his eyes. 

“Why, doctor!” exclaimed Kate, “I never even 
thought of such things as are written here!” 

“ Did the ideas,” he continued, “ come into your head, 
after each question, as you wrote along ?” 

“ No !” exclaimed Kate in a protesting tone, “ I never 
had the least idea of what was being writteu till I reacl 
it afterwards.’' 


240 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


“Well tell us,” he queried, “how the writing was 
done.”’ 

“ All I can tell you about it,” said Kate, shaking her 
head, ‘ ‘ is, that when I put my hand, holding the pencil, 
on the paper, some unseen force seems to make it go — 
just as if I should clasp my hand over yours and write 
with it; but of course, I don’t feel any fingers or any 
touch whatever.” 

“Well, it’s strange!” said the doctor, “but I’ve read 
of something like this before.” 

“ Have you indeed!” exclaimed Kate with a look of 
relief, “ I supposed there never was such a thing !” 

“ Oh yes,” returned the doctor, “ this is a big world, 
and many things are happening in it all the time. “Now,” 
looking at his watch, “ I’ve got to go again after dinner, 
and you can continue your visit with niother till I get 
back, and then I’d like to see, myself, how this writing 
is done. Will you try for me then ?” 

“ Oh, certainly,” answered Kate, “ and I’ll let you 
ask all the questions.” 

“ Good!” he exclaimed — “ now let us go to dinner.” 


CHAPTER XXIX. 


When the doctor returned, about the middle of the 
afternoon, he reminded Kate of her promise. 

“ Oh yes,” she replied, laying down the Farmer, “ I’ve 
got some paper here and a pencil all ready for it.” 

Mrs. Agens tumbled the stockings she was darning 
into the basket, and crossing the room, seated herself 
on the lounge, as the doctor drew his chair up to the 
table at the end of it, and upon which Kate was making 
ready for the writing. When everything was in order, 
Kate placed her hand holding the pencil upon the paper, 
and the movement began, first in circles and then in 
double loops, as it had done theretofore in the prelimi- 
nary exercise, the doctor and Mrs. Agens watching her 
closely. 

“ D’you mean to say, Kate,” asked Mrs. Agens, with 
an air of incredulity, “ that you are not doing that ?” 

“ I certainly am not doing it,” she answered, “ don’t 
you see ? I’m not moving my hand — it just goes itself.” 

“ Now,” said the doctor, as if curiously impatient, 
“ let us see it write,” whereupon the movement stopped. 

“ Well, ask some question — that was to be your privi- 
lege, you know,” said Kate. 

For a moment the doctor seemed a trifle embarrassed, 
but glancing at Mrs. Agens he said: “ I’m going to see 
if it knows now whether old Mrs. Niles is going to get 
well or not — in a week or ten days I’ll know myself. 
Then, clearing his throat, he asked: “Can you tell 
fortunes— that is, is the future known to you ?” 

[2413 


242 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


“Yes,” began the writing, “ where the plan of life 
is followed, spirits in the higher spheres can foretell 
events correctly. But most lives depart so far from 
the perfect plan, and foretelling or fortune telling being 
chiefly the work of second sphere spirits, predictions 
are, as a rule, for these two reasons generally very un- 
reliable.” 

“I declare!” said the doctor, “there seems to be 
some sense in it, providing,” as he looked sharply at 
Kate, “ you are not doing this yourself.” 

“Why, doctor!” she exclaimed with an injured air, 
“ don’t you believe me ?” 

“ Oh yes, Kate,” he answered, “but it seems just as 
if you were writing yourself. But I shan’t doubt you 
again.” 

The writing began again: “ Most mediums and for- 
tune tellers are, as a rule, influenced by second sphere 
spirits, many of them Indians, who assume to do what 
is impossible under ordinary conditions and what no 
spirit, immeasurably more competent from the higher 
spheres, would, for a moment, presume to undertake. 
Spirits from the higher spheres look with disfavor, 
generally, upon communication with mortals.” 

“ Why so? I should think that giving to the world a 
correct view of the conditions of life here and hereafter 
would be just what the world needs,” said the doctor. 

“ Quite so, and when the world is ready for it such 
information and instruction will be given. The time, 
however, is only now drawing near when the human 
mind and conditions on earth are sufficiently developed 
to justify the introduction of a new revelation.” 

“Heaven speed the day!” exclaimed the doctor. 
“ Well now, what is it which constitutes one person a 
medium and another not ?” 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


243 


“It is an inborn quality presenting properties by 
wliich we are enabled to affect or operate the physical 
body of the possessor, or some part of it. The possessor 
of this mediumistic property can not justly claim any 
credit for it, because he or she had no more to do in 
determining it than in predetermining the color of the 
hair or of the eyes. It is neither a mark of intellectual 
endowment nor of moral worth — indeed the most 
marked mediumistic quality may be found in a person 
so low in the scale of intelligence and morality that 
spirits from the higher spheres would find association 
impossible, and, for that reason, it is not at all infre- 
quent that such rare excellence of mediumistic faculty 
is quite unavoidably in the hands of unprincipled, low 
sphere spirits — do you understand me ?" 

“Well, I declare!” exclaimed the doctor. “Yes, I 
understand that plain enough, for it throws light on 
a subject I could never before understand to my own 
satisfaction. Then,” he began again, “ the high spirits 
can look farther into the future than the lower ones ?” 

“Yes, spirits from the third sphere farther than 
those in the second, the fourth than those in the third, 
and so on.” 

“ It is of greater value or help, therefore, to anybody, 
to have a guide who is high up in the spheres ?” 

“ Yes, all you can imagine.” 

“ What determines the selection of a high guide for 
a child ?” 

“ Its intellectuality and the work designed for it in 
earth life. In so far as intellectuality is inherited, and 
good morals the result of careful training, so far do 
intellectual parents of moral lives predispose the way 
of high sphere spirits to become guides of their children.” 


244 


KATHERINE BARRV 


“ But we know” said the doctor, “ that great men 
have been born of lowly and ignorant mothers.” 

“Yes, but no talented man was ever born of an in- 
ferior mother. She may have been poor and undevel- 
oped, yet, the superior qualities were there, latent, 
perhaps, in that mother who transmitted them to her 
obscure babe.” 

With his first purpose still in mind, the doctor 
asked: “ Do you object to test questions ?” 

“We have higher purposes to occupy our time. If 
you knew how repugnant tests are to me — anyway, the 
person who will not believe without them, would not 
with them.” 

“ Well,” said the doctor, hesitating in his search 
for a question, “ do you spirits eat or drink, or can you 
partake of what is prepared on our tables ?” 

“Yes, in the lower spheres there is much eating and 
drinking, and even in some of the higher we may par- 
take of our beautiful fruit. In a spiritual way I might 
partake of what is prepared upon your table, for ex- 
ample: I see a pudding there, and I may will one for 
myself like it, which I can taste.” 

“Well, did you ever!” exclaimed Mrs. Agens, “that’s 
why some people I’ve heard of place chairs at table 
for absent ones I suppose.” 

“ Are some substances,” continued the doctor with- 
out noticing what Mrs. Agens had said, “ more difficult 
than others for spirits to pass through ?” 

“Yes, the metals.” 

“ Are some gases difficult or obnoxious ?” 

“Yes. I do not know of any that can be called pleas- 
ant.” 

“ Is matter eternal ?” 

“ Yes, indestructible, indescribable, eternal.” 


KATHERINE BARRY. 245 

“There!” exclaimed the doctor, “that is my belief, 
too!” 

“ Can you tell me where in the brain or body is the 
soul ?” 

“ The soul is the thinking part of the composite 
which constitutes the human individual. It is not one 
with the spiritual body, for it bears a relation to it 
similar to that which it does to the physical body. It 
is the ego. It was not created in its entirety, as is or- 
dinarily believed, but evolved from inferior degrees 
of intelligence, quite as the physical body was evolved 
from lower forms of life. It is still in a process of un- 
foldment or development which has perfection for its 
goal. The spiritual body is the exact counterpart of the 
physical, infolding and pervading it in detail and as a 
whole, from the minutest molecule to the body in its 
entirety. Upon separation at death, every feature, 
every limb, every organ, every tissue even to the min- 
utest, is duplicated in the spiritual body. To illustrate 
their identity of appearance, use or function, and at the 
same time their interindependence, I may tell you that 
in instances where amputation of a leg or an arm has 
been done in earth life, we still see remaining there the 
spiritual leg or arm, resembling the remaining leg or 
arm exactly as did the amputated member.” 

“That’s wonderful!” said the doctor. “We must 
preserve this paper, or this writing, for I want to think 
these things over by and by at my leisure.” 

“\Vhat becomes of the life principle in birds and 
animals — do they pass over, as you say, too ?” 

“ Yes, here we have all kinds of birds and animals. 
How could any abode be homelike without them ?” 

“ I’ll never wring a chicken’s neck without thinking 
of that,” said the doctor. 


246 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


“ I wonder,” put in Mrs. Agens, “ whether our old 
‘ Maj ’ still lives over there ?” 

“Yes,” went on the writing again, “he is here with 
you often, following you or the doctor about as he did 
in the flesh.” 

“Did you ever!” exclaimed Mrs. Agens, “can you 
tell how he looks ?” 

“ He is a large white dog, with brown spots on his 
sides, shoulder and head.” 

“That’s him exactly!” she exclaimed, “the dear old 
fellow — don’t you remember him, Kate ?” 

“Well, not very clearly,” answered Kate, “it’s some 
five or six years since you had him, isn’t it ?” 

“Yes, six years this coming winter, since he died,” 
answered Mrs. Agens. 

“ How did you know it was ‘ Maj,’ though ?” queried 
the doctor. 

“ Those about here told me it was the dog you re- 
ferred to, and besides, I observed him wag his tail and 
look towards you when you mentioned his name.” 

“Why, why!” exclaimed Mrs. Agens. 

“ Let me ask this question,” said the doctor: “ What 
do you think of mind-cure or faith-cure ?” 

“It is possible to cure many diseases, principally 
nervous, in that way. It has, however, more of non- 
sense in it than anything I recall now.” 

“Good!” shouted the doctor, “that’s sound sense, 
anyway.” 

“ Do the spirits of persons who were idiotic here 
become intelligent there ?” 

“ Yes, in time. The idiot has to commence here as 
a little babe.” 

“ And is reason restored to the insane there ?” 


KATHERINE BARRY. 24^ 

“ Certainly, all ailments and frailties and deformities 
are ultimately cured here.” 

“ By whom ?” 

“ By physicians here.” 

“ What !” exclaimed the doctor in surprise. 

“ Oh yes, the physical disability leaves its counterpart 
in th spiritual, and it requires to be cured just the 
same. For example, your patient who passed over, 
they tell me, about a year ago, of consumption, is cough- 
ing still, and probably will for some time, but he is im- 
proving, and will ultimately be entirely cured.” 

“ Well,” said the doctor, “ that beats me !” 

“ The doctors over here,” continued the writing, 
“ often assist you earth doctors with your cases — oftener 
than is suspected, at the solicitation of friends, or for 
some other good and sufficient reason. I have seen 
persons eminent in your profession here helping you 
at your work.” 

“ You don’t say so!” exclaimed the doctor. 

“ That’s why you have such good luck with your 
bad cases, perhaps,” suggested Mrs. Agens. 

“ Tell me,” resumed the doctor, “ what do you think 
of capital punishment ?” 

“ I think it is wrong, and if you understood or could 
appreciate the state in which those put to death gener- 
ally come to us, and how difficult it makes it for them 
and for us here, you would, too, see how wrong it is.” 

“ Oh ! I’ve been opposed to it on principle these many 
years,” said the doctor. 

“ What is the condition of a suicide there, does he flee 
from troubles he knows to those he knows not ?” 

“ That is the truth. I can assure you that the condi- 
tion of a suicide over here is most deplorable, difficult 
and miserable.” 


248 


KATHERINE BARRT. 


“ What do you think of money-getting — is the biblical 
estimate of the rich man correct ?” 

“ The rich man becomes avaricious and hard-hearted. 
Money in itself is not hurtful.” 

“ Is there any buying and selling over there ?” 

“ Yes, after the fashion of earth, but not in the higher 
spheres.” 

“ Is it done to accumulate wealth ?” 

“ No, it is done only for education, entertainment or 
amusement.” 

“ What do you think of prohibition?” 

“ I think it is one of the best social reforms.” 

“ What of Mormonism ?” 

“ It is rotten to the core. It is the most frightful blot 
in the history of to-day.” 

“ What of communionism ?” 

“ Generally, I should not advise it — in some localities, 
however, it might be admirable.” 

“ What of Darwin’s origin of species ?” 

“ I know it is in accordance with nature’s laws, and 
therefore, true. He was an able investigator.” 

“ I believe everything Darwin ever wrote,” said the 
doctor. 

“ What do you think of miscegenation ?” 

“ I know that it is frightfully wrong.” 

“ Do you consider murder, as we do, the gravest of 
crimes ?” 

“ No, adultery is a greater sin than murder. When 
one is murdered, that person is forced, prematurely, into 
a new environment — it is simply a matter of change 
involving, of course, loss of opportunities on earth, and 
augmentation of difficulties here; adultery, and I make 
no distinction between that and fornication, involves 
so much affecting the parties to it, both on earth and 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


249 


here, and is so far-reaching in its consequences, that it 
transcends all other sins in heinousness and humili- 
ating embarrassment of one’s best interests. I declare 
to you truly, that there is no sin committed or possible 
on the face of the earth which so seriously affects or 
destroys one’s prospects in this world as does sexual 
impurity.” 

“Whew!” exclaimed the doctor, “that’s new doc- 
trine!” 

“ Is the place of Christian ministers generally good 
in the other world ?” 

“No, and no worse, generally, than that of others.” 

“ In what sphere are they ?” 

“ All are not selfish or sinful men.” 

“ Are Catholic priests any better off over there ?” 

“ No.” 

“ Is there a personal devil ?” 

“No, not in the sense in which you use that term; 
but there are thousands here, any one of whom as vi- 
cious, as malevolent, as wicked and degenerate might 
rightly be called by that name.” 

“ Does not the Christian who lives according to his 
belief, and believes in accordance with his best knowl- 
edge, receive in the next world the reward of his con- 
scientious life ?” 

“ Yes, a man true to his inner consciousness in the 
body, will easily comprehend and master the great 
truths of the hereafter.” 

“ From your standpoint now, what do you say should 
be the chief purpose or principal object of life ?” 

“ To do all the good you can; to get all the knowledge 
you can; and to keep yourself pure.” 

At this the doctor slapped his knee with his palm, as 


250 


KATHERINE BARKY. 


he exclaimed! ‘‘Well said! I believe that’s the doc- 
trine in a nutshell.” 

“So do I,” ventured Mrs. Agens, “for that takes in 
the golden rule and the sermon on the mount, all in one 
— don’t you think so, Kate ?” 

“ Why yes,” answered Kate, “ it seems to me as beau- 
tiful as it is brief.” 

“ Now wait a moment,” said the doctor to Mrs. Agens, 
who was about to prolong her talk with Kate, “ Have 
you ever seen Christ ?” 

“ No.” 

“Why! is that so ?” queried the doctor, with an air 
of surprise. “ Have you ever met anyone over there 
who has seen him ?” 

“ No.” 

“ Well, there is no doubCthat there has been such an 
individual ?” 

“ No, there can be no doubt, because he"is an histori- 
cal person.” 

“ Do you believe that he was the^on of God in the 
biblical sense ?” 

“ No, he was the son of God only as every other person 
born into this world is the son of God. But he was a 
good man, a reformer, far in advance of his age.” 

“ How is it he has not been seen over there ?” 

“ His life was so sinless, so nearly perfect, that upon 
leaving the earth he entered a high sphere and soon 
passed from that to perfection. Therefore, none of 
those now available over here have seen him.” 

“ Have you ever seen God ?” 

“No.” 

“Nor anyone who has ?” 

“No.” 

“ Is God a person 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


251 


“ Even the highest and most learned here speculate 
on that question just as you do — not one knows.” 

Do you know or believe that God answers prayer ?” 

‘ ‘ Not directly, yet the prayer that cometh from the 
heart has a purifying effect upon the one praying, who 
realizes, sooner or later, the object of his prayer or its 
equivalent.” 

“ Is Job a fictitious character ?” 

“Yes.” 

“ Is King Solomon ?” 

“No.” 

“ Is David ?” 

“No.” 

“ To what sphere did Christ go to ?” 

‘ ‘ I don’t know — he was nearely perfect, but not divine.” 

“ Are there fewer in number in the higher spheres ?” 

“Yes.” 

“ Is the life principle in any, even the lowest forms, 
dissipated or in any way lost or destroyed upon the de- 
struction of the material form from which it emanated ?” 

“ No, never.” 

“ What is the source of life ?” 

“ God is the source of all life.” 

“ Do you mean directly or through the operation of 
law ?” 

“ Through the operation of natural law, of course.” 

“ Well, then you would say that spontaneous origin of 
life is possible ?” 

“ Yes, for in that way, if I understand you, all life 
originated, developing in the lower forms and thence 
evolving upward through higher forms to man. .^ons 
of time were required for these great processes.” 

“ Do you measure time there by years ?” 




252 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


“ Yes.” 

“ Is the sun in sight there ?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ And it rises and sets, as with us ?” 

“Yes, it seems to rise and set.” 

“ Is it dark there between sunset and sunrise ?” 

“No.” 

“ Whence is the light ?” 

“From the sun, reflected from the other planets,” 

“ It seems to me that the conditions are about the 
same as here.” 

“ Yes, as I have written before, you would hardly per- 
ceive the difference in the lower spheres.” 

“ What do you think of reincarnation ?” 

“ It follows as a corollary of what I have already 
told you of the progressive development of the soul, 
that reincarnation is a necessary truth. The sum of ex- 
perience must be the same for all, and while we may 
obtain, after earth life, much that we require in general 
and in particular as guides over here, yet, when some- 
thing still is wanting which can not otherwise be ob- 
tained, reincarnation offers the conditions requisite for 
its accomplishment.” 

“ I never liked that idea,” said the doctor, “ because 
it involves severance and separation of ties of friendship 
and affection which seems cruel and undesirable.” 

“ True, but understand that reincarnation does not 
take place till such ties are outgrown, disregarded or 
forgotten. In the lower orders, as the savages or bar- 
barians, it occurs sooner, for like the cat and her kittens, 
they soon forget ; but among the higher orders, the more 
developed, long periods even ages may intervene.” 

“ Some persons claim to have some kind of intimation 


KATHERINE BARRY. 253 

or foggy recollection of a previous existence, and quote 
that as indicating it.” 

“ Yes, that is possible, and yet, such intimations or 
suggestions may be from another source, as I can illus- 
trate by reciting a true story, told me by the guide of 
the young man concerning whom it was related. Some 
weeks before he was born, his mother, sitting alone one 
evening in front of the grate gazing at the glowing 
coals, her fancy constructed there a beautiful landscape, 
the various features of which were so prominent and 
well marked that she studied it long with pleased in- 
terest. Like all such incidents, it was soon forgotten. In 
time, her child grew up and, becoming an artist, entered 
in competition for a notable prize offered for the best 
piece of original work. For many days he applied him- 
self to his task, evolving upon the canvas the conception 
formed in his mind, and, when at length it was finished, 
he took his mother to look at it. As he drew the curtain 
away exposing the picture to her view, she was surprised 
to find something familiar in the general appearance of 
what she understood was to be original work. Studying it 
some time in an endeavor to recall where she had seen 
it before, the recollection of the landscape in the embers, 
years ago, came to her, the exact reproduction of which 
was there on the canvas before her.” 

“ I never heard of anything like that,” said the doc- 
tor, “ but I don’t see why prenatal influences may not 
impress the mind as surely as they do the body, and I 
know they do that. What do you say of the man who 
gets rich by fraud or the abuse of confidence ?” 

“ I know that, although he may think his act a smart 
or clever one because of its immediate or present suc- 
cess, the time will surely come when he will see that 
it was the most foolish and shortsighted, viewed even 


254 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


from the standpoint of self, because somehow and some- 
time, dollar for dollar and penny for penny in equiva- 
lence must be repaid, until which, he is as much poorer 
than he might be as he has taken money wrongfully, 
and wretched commeasurable with the consequences 
to those he defrauded. I know of instances over here 
in which very much has been done for others by such 
debtors, but because the element of self was lurking in 
it, that is, because it was done principally to better their 
own conditions, it utterly failed altogether.” 

“ I tell you,” said the doctor, looking at his wife, 
“ honesty is not only the best policy — it is the best prin- 
ciple. Tell me,” he resumed, “ what do you think of 
the Christian religion generally ?” 

“In so far as its moral teachings are correct, it ac- 
complishes much good, but in its doctrinal teachings 
it is a great error and a greater mockery. Men stultify 
reason in support and defense of the propositions of 
this religion, so childish, so opposed to experience, to 
sense and truth that, in any other domain of thought 
or practice, they would not be admitted to consideration. 
Bear in mind, when I say this, that I am not unaware 
nor forgetful of all and so much that has been done 
through the humanity and morality in this, so-called, 
Christian religion. Credit should be given for the good 
that has filtered through it all from the teaching and 
example of Christ. Do not, however, I implore you, 
offend God by considering him, a man, a creature, co- 
equal with Him who is the one supreme Being.” 

“ Really,” said Kate,, rubbing her arm, “ I am getting 
quite tired.” 

“Oh! beg your pardon,” said the doctor, extending 
his hand deprecatingly toward Kate* “ stop right now. 


KATHERINE BARRY. 255 

I got SO interested that I never thought of any one else. 
There is plenty of time coming.” 

“ Why yes,” added Mrs. Agens, rising to her feet, 
“and it’s after time for supper, too!” as she bustled 
away to the kitchen. 




CHAPTER XXX. 

After dinner the following day, Sunday, the doctor 
proposed a drive down to Plainfield, “ to show Kate the 
new Catholic church.” 

“ I would like to go very much,” replied Kate, “ it 
seems an age since I was in Plainfield last.” 

Although the sky was overcast with dark gray clouds, 
the air was still and mild, and the roads as dry and 
smooth as in summer. Mrs. Agens and Kate occupied 
the rear seat of the carriage together, and, as they went 
along, Mrs. Agens pointed out or commented upon the 
changes here and there which had taken place during 
Kate’s absence. 

“ What makes you so still ?” asked Mrs. Agens, giving 
the doctor a little push upon the shoulder, after they had 
gone some distance. 

“ Oh, you seem to be doing very well,” replied the 
doctor, looking round with a smile. “ The fact is. I’m 
thinking of that writing — I tell you I can hardly think 
of anything else.” 

“ Well, don’t let that turn your head,” said Mrs. 
Agens,. “ talk to us a little now and you can think of that 
when you are on your drives all alone.” 

“ Did you know,” said the doctor, hitching round on 
his seat so as to look at Kate, “ they have a new priest 
in Plainfield now ?” 

“ Why no,” answered Kate, “ what has become of 
Father Logan ?” 

“ I don’t know, and I guess few of his people care,” 
[256] 


KATHERINE BARRY 


257 


answered the doctor, “when he was leaving Plainfield, 
he sold the rectory Mr. Cole almost gave away, thinking 
he was helping the parish, and put the money down in 
his own pocket.” 

“ You don’t say so!” exclaimed Kate in astonishment. 

“Yes,” added Mrs. Agens, “ and he made a good 
penny on it, too, for it brought a good deal more than 
was paid for it.” 

“ Well,” said Kate, “ who would ever have thought 
he would do such a thing!” 

“ Ah,” said the doctor, “these priests like money just as 
well as anybody else, even though they preach against it. 
But I don’t think he did right, and if this writing is 
true, he’ll have one debt to pay in the next world that 
we all know of.” 

“ Who is the new priest ?” inquired Kate. 

“ A Father Sm)dh,” answered the doctor. 

“ Where does he live ?” she asked again. 

“ Oh, they had to go to work and buy a lot on the 
same street, some distance out, and build a house for 
him,” he answered. 

When they reached the church, Kate was much inter- 
ested in its neat and tasteful appearance and, after com- 
menting admiringly upon it, she said: “ That’s the kind 
of church we should have had here when such a man as 
Father McNally was here!” 

“ Why ! I thought,” said Mrs. Agens, “ they were glad 
enough to get rid of him !” 

“ Oh yes, some were,” replied Kate, “who could net 
appreciate him and were quick to believe everything 
they heard about him.” 

“Now then,” spoke the doctor over his shoulder, as 
he drew the horses into the road again, “which way 
would you like to go now ?” 


258 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


“ Out by the new burying ground, please,” answered 
Kate, “ and then round by the old farm on the way back.” 

“ All right,” said the doctor as they drove away, 
“ but I’m afraid the looks of the old place won’t please 
you.” 

“ Why ?” she inquired. 

“ Oh, they don’t keep it upas your father did,” he re- 
plied, “ and it begins to look run down and shiftless.” 

Just before reaching the burying ground they met a 
carriage containing Frank Dunn and a woman. Kate 
bowed smilingly to Frank, who blushed and appeared 
very surprised at seeing her. As soon as they had passed, 
Kate said: “ I wonder who that woman with Frank is ?” 

“Why, that’s his wife,” said the doctor, “didn’t you 
know he was married ?” 

Kate suspected that the doctor was joking, but on 
turning an inquiring glance at Mrs. Agens, she saw that 
it must be the serious truth, for Mrs. Agens nodded as- 
sent, but made no reply. 

“When was he married ?” Kate managed to ask with- 
out betraying her feelings. 

“ About two months ago,” answered the doctor, 
“ wasn’t it, Myra ?’ 

“Yes, about two months,” briefly replied Mrs. Agens, 
for she surmised it was something Kate was not pleased 
to hear. 

Arrived at the burying ground, Kate alighted and 
went over to her father’s grave, where she knelt for a 
few moments, and then placing upon it a white geranium 
she had brought from the doctor’s, she returned to the 
carriage weeping. 

“ Don’t cry, dear,” said Mrs. Agens in soothing and 
sympathetic tones, as the carriage went on again, “ you 


ICATHERINE BARRV. 259 

know it does no good, and,” putting her arm around 
her, “ I do not like to see you feel bad.” 

The doctor looked back as if he would say something 
to comfort or cheer her, but with evident lack of confi- 
dence, he turned away and said: “Dan’s been driven 
single so much, he frets in double harness — see how 
sweaty he is, v/hile Peg is as dry as a muff.” 

“ Well, you needn’t drive so fast,” said Mrs. Agens, 
with emphasis on the word drive. 

“I’m not urging them at all,” returned the doctor, 
‘‘ they draw the carriage by the reins now.” 

Kate was a long time in recovering her composure, 
and even then she was silent and evidently sad. 

“ Do you say you would like to go round by the old 
place,” asked the doctor, as they approached the stone 
bridge. 

“ Oh, yes, please,” she answered, and Mrs. Agens 
added : “ Why, of course.” 

As they were approaching the old farmhouse, by the 
road skirting the orchard, Kate looked out at the old 
familiar trees with something of affection in her eyes. 

“ There is the Spitzenburg tree,” said she, pointing 
it out, “ and over there in the second row is the Pound 
Sweet, and right next to it the Jilliflower,” and as they 
passed farther on, she added: “and there are the Har- 
vest Boughs, and. beyond them the Winter Russets — 
that tree with the bushy top and the one to the right of 
it. Father used to bury them in a winter pit in the gar- 
den every fall, and in the spring they’d come out so 
mellow, so fresh and so yellow — dear me ! how good we 
children used to think they were!” 

As they were passing the house, Kate said: “ I won- 
der what they have done with the Virginia creeper.” 

“ That’s the trouble,” replied the doctor, “ they 


260 


KATHERtNE BARRY. 


haven’t dene anything with it — it lies on the ground 
there where it fell down or was blown down, I don’t 
know which.” 

“And just look at my flower-beds!” she exclaimed, 
as she looked at the tufts of dry weeds and brambles 
which evidently had flourished through the summer, 
where her care had formerly fostered pansies and pinks 
and tulips and marigolds. “Dear, dear!” she exclaimed 
in tones of mingled affection and regret, as she turned 
half about on the seat and looked back at the old house 
receding now as they sped along the mill road. Then 
turning to Mrs. Agens, she said: “It makes my heart 
ache to see the dear old place look so!” 

“They’re a shiftless lot,” said Mrs. Agens, “your 
father always kept things looking so neat and picked up.” 

Sara had supper ready when they reached the house, 
and as they seated themselves at table, the doctor said: 
“ Well, Sara, your promptness will save much suffering 
and possible death, for I’ve been as hungry as a bear 
ever since Kate talked about those winter russets, ‘ so 
mellow and so yellow.’ ” 

“ Shan’t I open a can of pears — wouldn’t you like 
some ?” asked Mrs. Agens. 

“Not for me,” answered the doctor with a shake of 
his head, “pears ’re not winter russets — maybe Kate 
would like some.” 

“ But she declined also, as they both did Mrs. Agens’ 
suggestion of cherries, the doctor adding: “ canned fruit 
is a mockery and a delusion. There’s only one way to 
rightly enjoy it, and that is to eat it fresh in season— or 
when it comes from a pit in the spring.” 

“ Well, when you can’t always have it in season,” re- 
turned Mrs. Agens, “ the next best thing is to have it in 
cans.” 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


261 


“ True,” said the doctor, “ and keep them shut tight.” 

Soon after supper Kate retired to her room, and im 
mediately placing paper upon the little table there, she 
seated herself, pencil in hand, saying, as the movement 
began: “Did you mean Frank Dunn when you wrote 
of the ‘ young farmer ?’ ” 

“ The young man,” ran the writing, “ whom you saw 
to-day.” 

“ Well, didn’t you know he was married ?” 

“Yes, but when I wrote that you had been designed for 
each other, I was referring to the past, not to the present 
or future. In that past, no influence I could exercise was 
sufficient to impress you with a realization of the choice 
you were making, nor to overcome your inconsiderate 
pride, and I plainly foresaw that, as matters were tend- 
ing, you would marry one never intended for you and 
so illy adapted that your life would become a great fail- 
ure. Seeing this, I yielded to the Catholic influences of 
your old home which, acting through your mother, di- 
verted you from him and ultimately led you to the con- 
vent.” 

In her disappointment, Kate pushed the paper from 
her and, covering her eyes with her handkerchief, she 
let go the restraint, holding indifferently her emotions 
in check since she knelt at her father’s grave in the aftei - 
noon, and wept long and bitterly. 

Drying her eyes, at length, she went over to a rocking- 
chair near the window, and, with eyes gazing vacantly, 
became lost to her surroundings in a revery of the pasc. 
Scene followed scene in succession as she dwelt again 
in the years agone, from the days when her brothers 
swung her, a little tot, in the shade of the old apple 
trees, to the day when she looked back at her father and 
mother weeping on the steps when she left the old home 


262 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


for the convent. When, at the sound of Mrs. Agens* 
voice in the hall, she roused herself, she was so sad and 
so homesick that she retired with a half-formed purpose 
to go to her mother and her brothers for the solace and 
advice which she now felt her heart could not find else- 
where. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 


The next morning Kate came downstairs looking pale 
and dejected. Mrs. Agens, who had preceded her but 
a few minutes, was returning from the kitchen when she 
saw Kate already in the sitting-room. 

“ Good-morning, Kate !” said she, as she came bustling 
cheerily toward her. 

“ I guess you didn’t say those long prayers this morn- 
ing the doctor’s been talking about,” and as she came 
nearer she added in tones changed to sympathetic: 
“ Why! you look as if you were half sick.” 

“ Really, Mrs. Agens,” replied Kate, sinking into a 
chair, “ I do feel wretched this morning — I am heart- 
sick and homesick, and I’ve made up my mind to go to 
my people before I am down sick altogether. My visit 
to father’s grave and the sight of the old home yester- 
day were too much for me, I guess, and I have had a 
very poor night.” 

“ Oh dear!” said Mrs. Agens, drawing closer and plac- 
ing her hand on Kate’s shoulder, “ don’t you think you 
will feel better in a day or two ? After you have had 
some breakfast, and a good cup of coffee and a nap by 
and by, I’m sure you’ll feel better.” 

“ Oh no, Mrs. Agens,” replied Kate, “ you are so kind, 
but I do not care for any breakfast at all — I couldn’t 
swallow a morsel.” Then taking Mrs. Agens’ hand in 
hers, she added: “ I came down so early to see the doc- 

[263] 


264 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


tor before he went away, to ask him if he would have 
Ralph take me to High Falls to-day.’' 

“ Why, yes, I know he will, but dear me! how disap- 
pointed he will be !” replied Mrs. Agens, “ for he th( ught 
and I did, that you were going to make us such a good 
long visit.” 

When the doctor came downstairs a little later, he 
was astonished upon learning of Kate’s unexpected 
purpose, and, after making all manner of objection and 
protestation, seeing that Kate’s mind had undergone 
some change, and that she was steadfast in her wish to 
go, he yielded good-naturedly, although he was indeed 
very greatly disappointed, for, unknown to Kate and 
Mrs. Agens, he had made out a long list of questions, 
adding to it at frequent intervals, which he was most 
desirous to have answered at the next writing. 

After breakfast, therefore, at which Kate only sipped 
a little coffee, she took leave of Mrs. Agens and the 
doctor, and set out again with Ralph for High Falls, 
arriving there only a few minutes before the train was 
due. Bidding Ralph a hasty good-bye, she hurried into 
the station and sent forward a telegram informing her 
brother James of her coming, and a few minutes later 
entered the train as it halted there in its long flight west- 
ward. 

Through the long stretches of her journey, she con- 
sidered and reconsidered what she should say to her 
mother and her brothers in explanation of her unfor- 
shadowed appearance. She knew very well it would 
never do to mention the writing, nor suffer it to be seen, 
either as a strange and curious thing in itself, or in any 
way causative of her appearance outside the convent, for 
they would unhesitatingly declare she had become foolish 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


265 


or crazy, or, what was worse, possessed, and therefore, 
as a proper precaution, she must conceal or destroy the 
paper in her hand bag containing the writing. She 
shrank from the thought of burning it, she hardly knew 
why, even though it appeared to be the most direct and 
effective means of putting it out of sight. Why didn’t 
she leave it with the doctor ! She would send it back to 
him — that would please him, she knew it would. Tak- 
ing it from her hand bag, she arranged the pages evenly 
and in order, and rolling them into a compact bundle, 
she tied and addressed it and handed it to the conductor, 
requesting him to mail it at the next station for her. 
Now, surely, her people would not see it and, if she did 
not choose to tell them of it, they would never know any- 
thing about it. 

As the train rolled into the station at the end of her 
journey, she saw her brother James and little Katie 
scanning the windows of the incoming cars with eager 
eyes. Hastening out, as soon as the train had come to a 
standstill, she was quickly reached in the throng and 
clasped in affectionate embrace by her brother, she in 
turn embracing little Katie, now grown so much taller 
and better looking in every way. 

“Why, auntie!” she said as soon as released, “I 
thought you would have on a black dress and one of 
those white bonnets that nuns wear.” 

“ Did you ? I should suppose you would prefer to 
see me in this suit, similar to what you’ve always seen 
me wear,” replied Kate. 

“ Well, but you’re a nun, aren’t you ?” she persisted. 

For a moment Kate hardly knew what to say, but with 
a little hesitation, she answered; “Yes, when I’m at 
the convent.” 


266 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


This did not seem to wholly satisfy the child, but she 
subsided, and, entering the carriage, they drove away 
over the road made familiar by the previous visit, to 
her brother James’ farm. 

Her meeting there with her mother was naturally 
affectionate, as it must needs be under the circumstances, 
but yet in it there was a little bit of restraint on her 
mother’s side. On the first opportunity bringing them 
together alone, her mother, with anxiety manifest in 
her voice and in her face, asked: “ Arrah, Katherine, 
has anythin’ happined that yer.here so onexpected ?” 

“ No, mother, the Superior thought I did not look 
well and was confined too much and advised me to go 
out more, and so I thought I’d come home for a rest,” 
answered Kate, with a sudden pain of guilt at her heart 
and with no small degree of surprise, for she had not 
designed to say it, nor in any way had she fixed upon 
what explanation she would offer, putting it off on ac- 
count of the difficulty it had presented and leaving the 
whole matter to the exigencies of the occasion. 

“ Oh! is that all!” exclaimed her mother, as a look of 
relief lighted her countenance, and, clasping her hands, 
she raised her eyes to heaven as she said: “ Thanks be 
to the good God — that takes a burden from my heart.” 

In the following days of the week of her arrival, the 
members of the household frequently commented upon 
Kate’s appearance, at one time saying she looked pale 
and worn, and at another, that she appeared quite as 
well as ever. She had remained closely indoors since 
her arrival and therefore, as they were preparing for 
church on the ensuing Sunday morning, her mother 
asked: “ Now, Katherine, fwhat’ll Isay av anyone ashks 
me how long yer goin’ to be here, a?s av coorse some 
o’ thim will ?” 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


267 


“Oh, say for a little while or till I feel better,” she 
answered, without even the vaguest notion as to where 
or how she was to direct her future. The anxious in- 
quiries of her mother, however, had an uncomfortable 
and disconcerting effect upon her, and were beginning 
to shape her thoughts, more or less, in conformity to 
her own unpremeditated pretense and the justified ex- 
pectation of her mother. Was it prudent or sensible 
to permit her life to be directed by an unknown and 
unseen influence ? If there was error or deception in 
it, think of the sacrifice and irreparable loss to her! On 
the other hand, assuming it to be true, what was her 
station in life to be now, that the one designed for her 
was already wedded to another ! She did not know, and 
really did not care to know, for, as matters were, it 
seemed to her that her life was broken at this point. 

Kneeling at her mother’s side at mass, the old-time 
fervor of her piety began to inflame her heart, fanned 
by the breathing of her mother’s simple but sincere 
devotions, the familiar and inspiring ceremony at the 
altar, the reverential attitude of the congregation and 
the religious atmosphere pervading it all. The sermon, 
too, as if designed expressly for her, was from the text 
warning the faithful to beware of false prophets, and 
so vividly portrayed the resources and expedients of 
antichrist, that Kate experienced a sense of guiltiness 
at the remembrance of what she had so freely submitted 
to and encouraged. Bowing low in penitence, as she felt 
the love of the old faith repossessing her heart, she 
thanked God for her deliverance and for the strength of 
purpose with which she had concealed the uncanny com- 
munication altogether from her people. 

As they returned to the house after the service, there 
was a buoyant gladness in her heart like which she had 


268 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


not known in many days, and which became so apparent, 
by the return of her old-time cheerfulness and vivacity^ 
that her mother said: “ I guess it did you good to be 
at mass to-day, Katherine.” 

“Yes, I know it did, mother,” she replied in reckless 
candor, “it did my heart and soul good, and I feel 
better than I have in many a day.” 

“ Grandma,” whispered little Katie, after dinner, in 
Mrs. Barry’s ear, “ I saw tears in aunt Katherine’s 
eyes in church — don’t you suppose she was thinking of 
grandpa ?” 

That evening, after all had retired, Kate wrote a 
letter to the Mother Superior, telling her that she could 
not explain why she had left the convent, but that she 
now felt the profoundest sorrow for it and deep regret 
for having deserted her in her time of trouble. She 
besought her to take her back again for any position 
even the most menial, for now, quite herself again, she 
knew only too well, that she could never be happy in 
her life and service of God abroad in the wicked and 
delusive world. As she began this letter, she very dis- 
tinctly felt the unseen force tugging at her arm in ap- 
parent effort to control her hand, but resisting it with 
firm and fixed determination and all her strength, she 
finally shook it off and proceeded with the letter. 

As speedily as the mail could accomplish it, she re- 
ceived a reply in which the Superior expressed pleasure 
over her prOvSpective return, and chided herself for hav- 
ing overtaxed Kate with work and responsibility at a 
time when her mind and nervous system were under 
great strain consequent on beholding the beautiful 
visions. “Return to us, my child,” she wrote, “and 
henceforth we shall endeavor to watch over you with 
greater diligence and more solicitous care.” 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


269 


Upon meeting her mother, after having received and 
read this letter, she put her arms affectionately around 
her neck as she kissed her and said: “ Mother dear, to- 
morrow I am going back to the convent — I feel quite 
like myself again and I can not be contented nor happy 
anywhere else.” 

“ Well, asthore,” replied her mother, kissing her in 
turn, “ well feel bad to see ye goin’, but God’s will be 
done, an’ I’m thankful to Him that blesses you an’ us 
with yer good intintions.” 

On the following morning, therefore, she took her 
departure, leaving them all in affectionate tears. Little 
Katie’s parting with her was most trying, for in her 
childish way, she regarded the separation quite as she 
would had it been for the grave. 

When she arrived at Marine City, the first snowfall of 
the season was whitening the ground, and as she went 
up the driveway leading to the convent door, the large 
feathery snowdrops covered her as with a white raiment, 
and she thought, as she observed it, how in like manner 
God’s grace falling upon her in this favored place would 
cover her with its purifying and sanctifying influence 
until at last, upon reaching the summit of life, she 
would be enrobed in holiness. Arriving at the terrace 
in front of the entrance, she turned and looked back at 
the prospect half hidden and disappearing from view, 
and she thought again of how this typified the world 
now fading out of her life. Half breathing it a last 
farewell, she turned and, mounting the broad steps, 
rang the bell. As the door opened, the familiar face of 
the sister lighted with a smile upon seeing her, and as 
Kate disappeared within, the door again closed on her 
this time forever. 


2/0 


KATHERINE BARRY. 


It was learned that she was subsequently admitted to 
full orders, and, after a life of exemplary piety, she 
died there in the fulness of years and, as they say of 
her to this day, “ in the oder of sanctity.” 


THE END. 


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Love Works Wonders. 

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Lady Darner’s Secret. 

A Woman’s Temptation. 


M. Clay. 

Evelyn’s Folly. 
Repented at Leisure. 
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Delicate Ground. A Point of Honor. 

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Alone. True as Steel. 


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Guy Earlscourt’s Wife. By May Agnes Fleming. 

So Dear a Dream. M. M. Grant. Meeting Her Fate. Braddon. 
Give Me Thine Heart, A. S. Roe. Tested. Celia E. Gardner. 


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